


Won't Let You Be Gone

by HeyItsGee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: "Elias Bouchard? More like Elias Bastard" is such a big mood, Angst and Feels, Archivist where the burning hell are you, Background Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Gen, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Martin Blackwood Needs a Hug, Martin's Statements are Gonna Break Your Heart (Just Like They Broke Mine), Mentions of Sasha and Tim, Mentions of suicidal behaviour, Other, POV Martin Blackwood, Pre-Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, References to Depression, Sasha James and Tim Stoker Are Awesome Friends, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Institute (The Magnus Archives), This is what happened while Jon was inside the coffin, no beta we die like archive assistants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyItsGee/pseuds/HeyItsGee
Summary: [CLICK]Statements of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant, regarding his concern over Head Archivist Jonathan Sims’ expedition inside the Buried. Other issues addressed include a strange compulsion felt by Mr.Blackwood towards several other recorded statements, supplemented with personal theories as to their connection with the Archivist. Audios recorded direct from subject, from March 24th to March 27th, 2017, in the Magnus Institute, London.Statements begin.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Martin Blackwood & Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 98
Collections: Magnus Archives, The Magnus Archives Fanfiction





	1. Case #0172503-A

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my little TMA fanfiction: how I think Martin felt, and behaved, while Jon was inside The Buried. It was mentioned, later on in S4, that Martin left several tapes playing atop of the coffin to give Jon the strength he needed to escape Choke. What he thought of them, though, remained a mystery... Well, not under my watch. In this small tribute to my most beloved son, he's got the floor!

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON] _

1, 2, 3… Hello, hello? Right. Okay, I think it’s working now. [ _ Inhales _ ] This is Martin Blackwood recording, assistant to… [ _ Sigh _ ] No, no, that’s not how it should go.

_ [CLICK] _

* * *

_ [CLICK] _

Short statement of Martin Blackwood, 24th of March, 2017, regarding his concern about Jonathan Sims’ expedition inside The Buried.

…

Ugh, this is. Not. _ [Pause.]  _ Hey, wait, is that a  _ bone!? _ Jon, what the _ — _

Anyways. Let’s… I’m going to try again, alright? Right.  _ [Inhales] _

_ [CLICK] _

* * *

_ [CLICK] _

Hello, Jon. It’s Martin, recording live from the, uh, the Archivist’s office. Where, y’know, where you had the coffin placed. You know, we’ve not… really  _ talked _ much since you woke up and got back to the Institute. Mostly because I… I haven’t been around, of course, but I…  _ [Sighs, takes another breath] _

_ [Resolutely]  _ I’ve been pretty busy, that’s why. Melanie, uh—it was Melanie who told me you were missing, yesterday. She mentioned that you left a tape for her and Basira before going inside the coffin, which she said I wouldn’t really like to hear at all… Although that’s, of course, absurd… And she’s been… Surely you knew already when you made up your mind to venture down there, but Melanie…, she’s angry. Like,  _ really  _ angry.

Basira… Went away. Although she didn’t say anything about where she was going, or why, I think she’s pursuing a lead Elias gave her. According to the prison records, she’s paid him a few visits now and then, and I don’t think she simply wanted to have friendly chats. Well, I can’t imagine either of them doing any kind of small talk, to be honest. So that’s simply not an option.

Sorry, I don’t think I’m making much sense right now.  _ [Sighs, then remains silent for a few seconds]  _ This tape is only a, uh, an explanation. About all the other tapes, you see.

Okay, that’s where I’m going to start. 

Tapes. If—no.  **When** . When you get out of there, you’re gonna see a lot of them around. Some I’ve placed atop the coffin already. Those are, let me see… [ _ Rustling]  _ Cases #0172904, #0161704, and #0173006. For some reason they just… I don’t think I picked them randomly. I mean  _ [laughs nervously], _ this is the Magnus Institute, and we’ve been around long enough to know things don’t just happen randomly in this place. So, yeah. The ones I brought were some of the ones which ‘called’ to me the most. 

Maybe it’s not as weird for you as it is for me. All this stuff about tapes calling, I mean. But it’s literally as if they were… I can’t quite explain it. Somehow there’s a tugging in my chest that tells me that these, these are the ones I should bring. Is this how it feels? Being you. Being the Archivist and taking statements.

_ [Pause]  _

I don’t know why, Jon.

I don’t know why they called to me.

But…

_ [Pause, followed by a heavy sigh.] _

But I’m ready to listen, if it means I get to help you. At least, it feels like it might help. 

Uh, now I’m curious about whose tapes these are. Mind if I play them? Only the beginning—I mean, these people gave their statements to us so obviously there’s no actual  _ reason _ for me feeling uncomfortable about listening. It still feels bad though. As if I were… Spying on them, somehow? Anyways. Names, and names only.

_ [He hits play on a different tape.] _

_ [CLICK] _

> “Please, state your name and the subject of your experience.”
> 
> “Into that? You’re joking.”
> 
> “I can assure you this will record—”

_ [CLICK] _

_ [Martin pauses the tape, and ejects it from the player.] _

Oh! This one, Case #0161704…, is a statement by Melanie. She didn’t say her name, but her voice is unmistakable . Although she sure sounded a lot less cross back then. 

Uh. I think that would’ve been your cue to roll your eyes and  _ [clears his throat, and speaks in a deep, throaty voice]  _ ‘Martin…’ me.  _ [Laughs slightly] _ On to the second tape, then.

_ [He audibly fumbles with the recorder as he puts a second tape into it. He clicks it on.] _

> “Right.”
> 
> “Right.”
> 
> “And… You’re… Sure you’re okay with this? And with me recording?”
> 
> “I mean… No? But.. You to—”
> 
> _ [The female voice dies as Martin presses one of the player’s buttons for a second. The sound of the button clicking off automatically follows] _
> 
> “...yeah. Maybe.”
> 
> “Okay. Statement of Georgina Barker, regarding the last words of a possible corpse. Recorded—”

_ [CLICK] _

Alright. First Melanie’s statement, and now Georgie’s. I get the feeling that the third tape is going to be a case related to another one of us. Maybe… Daisy, or Basira, or even me…  _ [Under his breath] _ Or Tim, or… Sasha...

_ [Stillness, save for the clicking sounds of the recorder as Martin puts the remaining tape inside.] _

_ [CLICK] _

> “Right, so I just… Read it?”
> 
> “He’s the last page.”
> 
> _ [Snorts.]  _ “Good luck. I gue—”
> 
> _ [Sound of crackling as Martin fasts forward the recording.]  _
> 
> “—fuse their drugs, though for what purpose even he co— _ ” _
> 
> _ [Another second of fast-forwarding.] _
> 
> “—ded. Gerard? Gerard Keay?”
> 
> “You’re new. Did you kill them?”
> 
> “Uh… Who?”

_ [CLICK]  _

_ … _

And that was Case #0173006. Even though I don’t really know anyone’s voice…, except from yours, obviously…, I believe this was the statement you somehow took from Gerard Keay. Who is, uh, a little dead, so I don’t really know how you managed to… But I guess that’s an, em, Eye superpower or something? Boardless ouijas?

However you got the statement, it does surprise me that the tape would’ve wanted to get together with the other two. Georgie and Melanie don’t know Gerard, after all. But they’re all recorded directly from subject... I don’t think it’s merely a bizarre coincidence. Here in the Magnus Institute we don’t really get coincidences anymore, or do we?  _ [Laughs nervously] _

Gerard, Melanie, and Georgie. Maybe… Maybe the statements that call to me are those related to people you’ve actually encountered, Jon?, be it alive or dead. More specifically, people you’ve helped, or changed in any way. Georgie was your... girlfriend, Melanie came here because nobody else would believe her story and ended up working with us… And I don’t really know what was up with Gerard Keay, but my spidey-senses tell me I’m not wrong. 

_ [Mutters] _ I-I mean. Spidey-senses as in Spiderman. Not as, as in, like, any Web related stuff. You _ — _ d’you even know _... _ ? _ [A short silence ensues] _ God. Just… just forget about that. 

But I do believe that the statements I brought are related because of you, Jon. Through you. 

_ [He is quiet for a while. Only a slight buzzing noise, from the recorder, can be heard.] _

I think that’s _ — _ that’s why I’m leaving my own tapes, too.

_ [Another pause ensues.] _

_ [Deeply sighing.]  _ Anyways, I’m running really late, and Peter has given me an impressive amount of work, so… I’ll leave these four tapes here. They want to stay here, I think, close to their Archivist. 

Yet again I sounded completely loony there. Ugh, I just…  _ [Snorts.] _

I’ll be back soon with more tapes. Please hold on until then, okay?

Okay. Okay, so now I’m going to leave the four tapes here, all playing. 

_ [Unsteady pause, as Martin fumbles with several tape players. One after the other, the tapes start playing. After the three are on, there are couple false starts as Martin grapples with what he wants to say.] _

I… I’m _ — _ I… I miss you, Jon.

_ [Choked up]  _ Please come back.

Please don’t stay in there much longer.

I don’t think I could… I don’t **_want_** to deal with you being- gone, again.

_ [Deep breath, audibly shaky at the edges] _

_ [Whispering]  _ So please.

Please come back.

_ [CLICK] _


	2. Case #0172503-B

_[TAPE CLICKS ON]_

_[Static noise]_

_[Voice echoing eerily]_ Oh, alright, alright, it’s working. Okay, um, yes. 

Hello, Jon—it’s me, again, I mean, m-me as in, Martin... Recording live from the loo in the western wing of the Institute. That’s why… Sorry for the, uh, probably echo-y sound quality, but I needed to get away to record somewhere Peter wouldn’t go snooping or just… ugh. Anyways I told Peter I was just going to the bathroom, so I’ve a bit of time but he’ll probably notice if I’m gone too long. I thought about going down the tunnels, but it’s on the opposite end of the Institute, plus I… don’t really want to go in there unless it’s a matter of life or death once _again_ , so... I’ve been doing my yoga exercises at home for a few weeks already, but I don’t think I can run down there and back here without collapsing halfway up the stairs leading to my office. So, um… Yeah.

I picked up yet another tape on my way here, which is… Let me see… Case #0180204. At least, I... _think_ that’s it? No, no, wait, it’s a six instead of an eight—it’s Case #0160204. _[Clicking his tongue] When_ you get back and all of this is… well. Don’t suppose it’s ever really going to be ‘over,’ is it. 

_[Somber pause. A leaky faucet can be heard dripping in the background.]_

...Whatever. When you get back, Jon, we **definitely** need to have a word about your handwriting. This is absolutely **not** acceptable. Remember how you were so frustrated about how disorganised the Archives were, back when you first became Head Archivist after Gertrude died? If whoever comes next has to get to grips with your equally nonsense archiving system, they’re going to feel pretty annoyed, too, that they can’t decipher the cases’ labels, let alone your _notes_. Honestly.

_ [In a low voice] _ Don’t think I meant…  _ [Inhales slowly] _ I hope you’re a long way from being replaced.  _ [Pauses.] _ Though, the way you’re going at it, I'd have half a mind to think you  _ want _ to. It’s as if you… Y-you were  _ trying  _ to get yourself…  _ [Frustrated sigh]  _ Y’know? M-most people come back from a near death experience with this…, like..., renewed sense of their, their lives’ value. But I suppose the  _[In a forced, pompous tone]_ ‘Esteemed and Illustrious Jonathan Sims’ is Not Like Most People. No—of course not! You _have_ to go on, to get more reckless with each close scrape you come back from. Honestly, Jon, if I didn’t know you better, I—I’d think you to be an adrenaline junkie, o-or just... Straight up s-suicidal.

Ha. Pot calling the kettle black, I guess? But the difference is, it's not _me_ launching myself into a hell fear dimension to-to... Dunno, save some cop who actively hated and tried to **kill** me. Or getting bits of me ripped out by someone who, oh, right!, tried to destro the Institute, and all of us, not even three months ago! Or...I don’t even  _ want _ to know what’s with all the blood on your desk. By the way, you didn’t really do a stellar job cleaning that up. 

_ Honestly,  _ Jon. You just woke up from being  _ dead _ for  _ six months.  _ Half. A bloody.  **Year.**

_[Stillness, save for the clicking sounds of the recorder as Martin puts the remaining tape inside. Then he sighs.]_

Anyways, let’s see who's case this is. It was really insistent that I brought it to you, you know. For some reason it… Whoever made the statement… They must really feel strongly about you.

_[CLICK]_

> “Are you sure you’re all right to do this now? You can take a few days off to recover, if you need.”
> 
> “No, it’s fine. Tim’s getting me a coffee, and I’d rather get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Besides, you didn’t give Martin any time off when he had a bad experience.”
> 
> “Martin had to start living in the Archives. I mean, I could hardly give him a holiday in the office. Anyway, he wasn’t injured.”
> 
> “It’s just a scratch, Jon. I’ll be fine. Can we begin?”
> 
> “Okay. Statement of Sasha James, assistant archivist at the Ma—”

_[CLICK]_

_[He is quiet for a while. Only a slight buzzing noise, from the recorder, can be heard.]_

…

It’s- It’s Sasha’s statement. The real one, not that- that- _[Deep, shaky exhale]_

Her voice… _[Sniffs loudly. His voice quivers]_ I didn’t remember. I had forgotten what... what her voice sounded like. 

…

_[Brief sound of tape rewinding, then a CLICK]_

> “-still fresh in my mind. Besides, you didn’t give Martin any time off when he had a bad experience.”

_[CLICK]_

_[Quiet, choked sob]_ Even after all we’ve seen, after all that’s happened, I still can’t believe we… That thing _took_ her, pretended to _be_ her, and we didn’t even notice, Jon. How could we not notice? Sasha, she… None of us realised it wasn’t her. Only Melanie, and Melanie didn’t really know her that well . Tim, you, and I… We didn’t. I know it doesn’t… Doesn’t really _work_ like that, but… She was our friend, Jon, we should’ve— _[Voice breaking]_ But we couldn’t tell her from—rom the Not-Her. Somehow I feel like we failed her. We should’ve been able to _see_ what that thing really was, or—or who it _wasn’t!_ I mean, what’s the point of the Eye if it didn’t even help us _see_ her, for God’s sake? 

_[Muffled swallowing of tears]_ We couldn’t have saved her during Prentiss’ attack, but we could’ve seen that something wasn’t right with the Not-Sasha, sooner. A-And we didn’t. Even now, I don’t know if the Sasha I’m picturing looks like the actual Sasha.

 _[White noise, broken only by Martin’s stuttered sobs.]_

...

 _[In a hoarse voice]_ You know, after we took down NotSasha, I spent some time going through all the files we had on her. Apparently she started off as a practical researcher, which meant she had to… _test_ some of the artifacts stored in the Institute. It’s not clear whether she knew what was really going on with them, but apparently she was really good at… Well, at whatever she did back then. Dunno why she never mentioned it… I'd been working here at the same time, y’know, though only as a sort of... glorified librarian’s assistant. But we talked once or twice, in the breakroom…? Or in the hallways...? I think? _[Pensive pause, static builds slightly]_

 _[A bit breathless] ..._ I guess there’s no way to know if we actually ever did. 

...Anyways, I found her CV.., shoved inside an old book on Gothic vs Modern church architecture of all places..., and Gertrude had scribbled a few notes on it. Did you know she expected Sasha to be appointed as her replacement? For some reason it was you who ended up becoming the new Head Archivist, though. 

Don’t take me wrong, I’m… Happy…?, that it was you. I mean, I think you’re really- you’ve been good with keeping the chaos Gertrude left at bay. I-I mean, sure, Tim gave you a hard time and all—but really, you did the best you could with what you had, and—and— _[heavy exhale]_

God, Jon. It was—it was. Bad. Without you.

Sometimes, before, I wondered what would’ve happened to us if you hadn’t found the worms early enough, or if you hadn’t been able to find out where the Unknowing was happening, or—well. _[Shuffling]_

I s’ppose I don’t have to wonder anymore. 

...Anyway, if the Beholding chose you over Sasha as its Avatar, you must’ve had something in you worthy enough of its time and energy. But I don’t know how you got the job instead of Sasha… Although… I think I _do_ know because of **who**. 

But I don’t really want to think about Elias. He’s just… Not worth it. And we’re here to talk about Sasha.

When I first started working in the Archives, after a few months working in a different section of the Institute… _[Clears his throat. His voice, though, is still hoarse, and shakes badly]_ Well, I was really scared that anyone in here would find out about me. About my lies, I mean, y’know, the masters in Parapsychology and so on. Everyone was dead serious about all the Archives stuff, so much more than the guys managing the front desk or the Library, and I’d gotten the job out of luck. So I tried to do whatever anyone told me to, from actual archival assistance to checking light bulbs in the ladies’ room, and be… Friendly. Useful.

It didn’t really work. Sometimes you would tell me to just go away, or the guys down in Artifact storage would yell at me because my being there annoyed them, or Tim would do his part of the research and then go an extra mile doing mine, too. You all were so efficient, and I just… Couldn’t keep up. It felt like I was inside a plastic bubble or something, and even though I could hear you and see you, and you could hear me and see me too, I could never be one-hundred percent here. I could never fully belong.

Back then I thought about quitting a few times. See, I felt really miserable. But it wasn’t as if I could allow myself the luxury to be picky. After all, nobody else had shown any interest in hiring me, and I really needed the money. So I kept coming every morning, five minutes early, and I kept fixing the toilet light bulbs. 

Shortly after I started working full-time in the Archives, Elias assigned me as one of the archival assistants—of **your** archival assistants. It wasn’t that easy, finding my way through the databases and resources, but when I asked around for some help, it was Sasha who gave it to me. See, she knew lots of shortcuts inside the Institute from her time working in Artifact storage, because sometimes Elias wanted to avoid regular corridors for whatever reason. And she also knew lots of tips on follow-up researching. Even though she only knew me from seeing me around, she knew my name. Kind of. She knew it was something with an M, at least, and Matthew sounds closer to Martin than you’d think.

My point is, she helped me a lot. Because of her, I learned to do decent research, and to ask the right questions to the right people, and to follow any lead that might provide any kind of answer. Sasha… She made me the archival assistant I am today. She… _[The trembling in his voice gets violent enough that he can’t speak any more.]_

_[Sobs echo against the tiled wall.]_

Sasha…

Sometimes I wish I could talk to her just one last time, you know?. To thank her, and to say I’m sorry. Sorry that we couldn’t save her. Sorry we didn’t notice, and so, so sorry for all that happened to her. 

But then I think it through, and I realise I don’t… really…, I don’t  _ feel  _ like I could have that conversation. Sure, I do feel that way, but. Telling someone else, that’s just… I mean, yeah, you might at some point listen to this, Jon, but it’s not the same. People aren’t the same as the possibility of them. 

_ [Pause. Then, sounds of shifting as if he were sitting up resolutely. He clears his throat.] _

_ Sasha.  _ I... I don’t know how to tell my memories of the real you from my memories of Not-Sasha. It’s just impossible to find any photo, or video. The Not-Them stole everything that could remind us of her. B-but not this tape. These words here, her statement. It’s really her, even though that thing took everything… Everything else.

But I know she was my friend.

I remember that, and I will make sure I never forget.

None of us will. 

_ [Soft crying, barely audible] _

“None of us.” _[Chuckles.]_ What does that even  _ mean  _ anymore? Tim—Tim’s gone too, and Jon’s shut himself up in that stupid coffin, and I’m…  _ [Static grows.]  _ I’m alone. More than ever before. So it’s up to me. It’s always up to me, isn’t it? All the grieving, all the staying behind and cleaning up the mess, all the feeling powerless because I can’t fix any of it, I can only… Remember that things weren’t always this way, and feel awfully miserable that they changed. First Sasha, then you, then Tim, and now you again. I’m the  _ only one  _ left. Again. And. Alone.

_ [Whispered]  _ God, Jon. It- It’s been more than a full day now, a-and I’m so scared that… That you won’t...

_ [He swallows, then lets out a shuddering breath.] _

Please come back.  _ Please. _ I’m.... I... You just—you just  **can’t** keep doing this to me.

_ [More weeping.]  _

I…  _ [Gasping] _ Dammit! This has been the longest pee break ever. Peter is  _ so  _ going to get suspicious. Ugh, Martin, this was supposed to—

_ [CLICK] _

* * *

_[CLICK]_

_[Footsteps echo as Martin runs. He pants heavily, his voice faltering with effort.]_

I’ll leave these tapes... on top of the coffin... during my lu…, lunch break. Try to…, to get some more, as w-well. _[Coughs]_ But f-for now, as you’d say… E-end recording. _[Coughs some more]_

_[CLICK]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, again, to my two wonderful beta readers! They're kind of my archival assistants, which is pronounced "the whole reason why this has turned out moreless decent" lol, so: ALL HAIL WibblyTheSpaceAce (AO3) and oddity-txt (Tumblr), please! And see (read) y'all on Monday, for the third chapter! ;)


	3. Case #0172503-C

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON] _

Hey, Jon. So… It’s finally lunch break time, and here I am. As promised. It’s not really as if I had any kind of fixed schedule, so I don’t know whether structuring the day makes any actual sense? It’s something I do out of habit, I guess. See, these past months everything’s just been…  _ [sighs] _ . Keeping some kind of routine helps me cope, I think. 

I-I mean, it’s just like,  _ alright _ , there’s all this paranormal stuff going on, but it’s the Magnus institute, what would you expect anyways? And suddenly I’m putting the Head of the Institute in jail for murdering  _ at least _ two people because,  _ surprise,  _ he’s some kind of evil, omnipotent creep who’s also trapped us into serving an eldritch fear god, and my coworkers got either blown up fighting a clown cult, or body-snatched, and my, ah, well— _ You’re _ inside a creepy supernatural coffin that has this tendency to never let anyone out.  _ [Speaking quicker now]  _ And then my replacement boss ,who literally shows up out of nowhere, is yet  **another** eldritch creep who insists that being alone is always better than being with people, and now I’ve got to help him stop another upcoming Apocalypse all by myself, and I still wake up nearly every night screaming because of nightmares with the Flesh or the Dark or Jane Prentiss, and, a-and they closed the tea shop beneath my house a week and a half ago and it was the only place that sold a both good and affordable Darjeeling but no, not anymore!  _ [Muttering]  _ And I  _ know  _ Peter had something to do with it. Anything that gives me comfort is, to him, ‘detrimental to my progress’ or whatever… But the poor shop owners, they weren’t...  _ [Takes a deep breath. His voice now sounds low, steady, and slightly empty.]  _

So it’s been… weird, and stressful, and exhausting, and I don’t know what I’m doing or what anyone’s up to most of the time. I-I suppose it’s all j-just... Hazards of the job?  _ [Laughs mirthlessly.] Necessary evils,  _ and all that. But hey, Martin, worry not! Even if nothing makes sense anymore, you can rely on scheduling. 

_ [Pause.] _

_ [Chuckles nervously. The fabric of his clothes rustles as he shifts, uneasy.] _ I-I’m sorry, Jon. That wasn’t really necessary. Like—Not at all helpful. I…

Sorry.  _ [Clears his throat] _ On a completely different note, I did bring you another statement. This one was at the bottom of its box, and I hurt my wrist while trying to grab it. Or, well, not properly  _ hurt  _ it—that came out a little too serious. Truth is, I only, eh, scratched the back of my hand a bit with some of the other tapes, so I-I’m just fine. Nothing to worry about. 

Good. Good.  _ [Stutters.] _ O-okay, alright, yes, so this tape is labeled Case… Let me just take a closer look…  _ [Under his breath.] _ Whatever that blur means? Jesus Christ, Jon—Oh, oh, I think I got it! Lemme just… Yeah, that’s definitely not an A, so I think this would be... Case #0171406. This is from… Not so long ago, actually. Wait, just let me—

_ [He hits play on a different tape recorder.] _

> _ [CLICK] _
> 
> _ [Calming breath.] _
> 
> “Statement of Eduardo Acosta, regarding the night of October 9th—”
> 
> _ [Sudden crash of tumbling boxes. Tape Martin lets out a little shriek.] _
> 
> “Sorry.”
> 
> “Oh, Christ, Tim! Oh, I… Huh, oh, oh God, it’s alright, it’s just a shock. I didn’t realise you were…”
> 
> “I’ve been moving boxes in here for a while.”
> 
> “You… Have you?”
> 
> “Yeah. Everything alright?”
> 
> “Yeah, I guess. I kind of… Zone out a bit when I have to read a statement.”
> 
> “Right.”
> 
> …

_ [CLICK] _

Oh. So it’s… It’s Tim’s statement. About his brother. He, uh, I think you already know, but he told me about it because I told him there were some Circus-related statements you were going through, to fight the Unknowing, and he got… I mean, back then we were all a little edgy, but Tim, he…  _ [Sighs] _ He lost it when he found out what we’d been up to. No one… He…

He said nobody told him.

And… And I guess it’s true. None of us did. We-we were all so deep into research, and so desperate to find anything that might help us stop the Stranger, that we just didn’t… Remember. That he’d been out of it, I mean, that he didn’t really know about the ritual, and Orsinov’s plans, and the Circus of the Other being back. 

Even if he  _ was  _ a little… Difficult to deal with, with all the, the  _ rage  _ that boiled inside of him, he was right. We should’ve told him. After all, we were on the same team. Tim hadn’t been around much. Thinking about it, I… I-I mean, I liked Tim just fine, and I’m sure he really tried to do his best to deal with… Well, with everything. But I feel like he just… Like we…

_ [Breathes in deeply, and takes his time before speaking again.] _ None of us were okay after Prentiss went savage on the Archives. Who, just…, who the hell would be after worms tried to leave them looking like some nasty piece of Casu Marzu!? You went all paranoid about us, and I guess, uh, I guess it just didn’t really… Help. Tim, I mean.He wasn’t really… acting himself, anymore, or thinking completely clearly, but I think he might’ve been right on some things. 

We all went through a horrible time, and finding out about Gertrude… It was just… _ [Sighs.]  _ Working for the Institute was already weird, but discovering her body took it from ‘weird’ to ‘macabre’. She was killed in the Archives, you were acting really strange and erratic, Elias pretended there was nothing unsettling about anything, and, well, Tim and I were like “What in the blazing hell is going on here,” but we couldn’t quit for some reason, and okay, I didn’t really want to resign, because there wasn’t any other job I could take up. But Tim? Unlike me, he wasn’t a walking lie, and he  _ could have _ , in fact, done something else. If he hadn’t been, uh, bound to the Archives, that is.

Before the Institute, he, uh, he had been working at a major publishing house.  _ [Pauses for a brief moment.]  _ A-and he had been to college, as well, he had a First in Anthropology, you wouldn’t know the stuff he knew about societies, and cultures, and… Just… People… 

My point is, Tim had enough skills and resources to rebuild his life outside the Institute. He knew that much. Both of us did. And the fact that he couldn’t just do it, for reasons neither of us could understand, it…  _ [Sighs.]  _ Hit him. Hard. Really hard.

We all crumbled under the pressure of the situation. But Tim, T-Tim went even beyond that. He shattered. Into pieces so tiny, even he couldn’t quite tell which parts of what remained were his and which ones weren’t. Which ones were only the fear and hatred that Jane, Elias and... you... had left him with.

…

_ [Sighs.]  _ I’m sorry, Jon. Do-don’t think I’m trying to blame you for what Tim turned into. It’s… That’s n-not what I meant. Everything was super odd, you had gone from dismissive to this… S-stalker w-who took pictures of us o-outside the Institute without our consent… Stuff kept happening, and well.

I don’t know. Even if the statements themselves were rather harmless at first, they alsobegan to wear on us. That, and the Corruption—I mean, Jane Prentiss’—attack, and the secrets you were clearly keeping from us, and the whole Gertrude thing… It was a molotov cocktail. And it landed at our feet, but the one who got the worst part of it was Tim. The situation made him bitter. Sour, even. He became some kind of… O-of , of Not-Tim.  _ [Hurriedly.] _ Of course, I  **don’t** mean it in the Not-Sasha way, because Tim was definitely no one other than himself, because, I mean, if the Not-Them was busy passing as Sasha, it couldn’t pass as Tim as well, so of course that would make no sense at all, eh?  _ [Laughs nervously.] _ Yeah, I… I don’t think that was funny a-at all.

_ [Under his breath.]  _ I shouldn’t have laughed.

I-I’m s-sorry, T-Tim. There’s nothing t-to laugh about what you had to go through since this huge mess started. When I met you, you were the kind of guy who, I dunno, most probably was first of his class but managed to still be one of the cool kids. It was… You were so easy-going. Always cheerful, and always grateful for the tea—even if, every morning, you got so deep into the research at hand that it was coldby the time you remembered its existence. 

Something I admired about you, Tim, was your inventiveness. Whenever there was a follow-up to be done, you managed to get the information you needed using a variety of resources wide enough that you might as well have gotten your First in the field of, eh _ , Private Detective Investigation Techniques and Manoeuvres _ . O-or, y’now, whichever studies MI6 people take. 

…

_ [Sniffs loudly, and the sound of fabric against skin can be faintly heard through the sobbing.] _ Tim, you were the brightest star here. You literally lit up rooms whenever you walked through the door. And I-I’m so sad that you went supernova. I… I just… 

_ [As Martin fumbles for the right words to say, something makes a wet sound.] _

Shit, my… That was my lunch.  _ [Pause.]  _

Ew. The mayonnaise is all over the place, and I don’t…? Really think that’s… The right colour for peas...?  _ [Sniffing sounds ensue, as Martin smells what was once a Russian salad sandwich.] _ Ew.  _ [Gags.]  _ S-since when have these salad leftovers been in the fridge!? This is literally days from turning into a… Mutant… Salad m-monster....  _ [Little sounds of disgust, as Martin throws the sandwich away in the office’s bin.]  _ Ew-ew-ew! Jesus Christ, Jon, be thankful that tapes don’t register smells. I-I’m going to empty the bin on my way to the supermarket at the end of the street.

_ [Martin’s stomach roars.] _

Which I-I should be heading off to sooner than later. After all it’s, eh… Yeah. My lunch break ends in ten minutes or so, so I’m gonna go grab something that won’t end in food poisoning.

Goodbye, Jon. I promise I’ll be back soon. 

You better be, too.

_ [CLICK.] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Sorry for being SO late! It's been one hell of a week, both emotionally and socially, and I didn't feel brave nor strong enough to post chapter 3 out of fear that this whole fic is a terrible, low-quality nonsense. It's been over a year since I last wrote anything, and I'm not confident at all :/ But, as always, thanks to AMAZING WibblyTheSpaceAce (AO3 user) and oddity-txt (Tumblr user), who beta-read this and helped me have a little more faith in the result! They're incredible <3


	4. Case #0172503-D

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON] _

_ [Static noise] _

_ [Sudden, loud sneeze] Atchoo!. [Sniffing sounds]  _ Oh, hey, Jon. Soddy foddat, theza loddo’ dusst hede—At-CHOO! 

Waid, I… Demme jus—

_ [CLICK.] _

* * *

_ [CLICK.] _

Alright, alright, now I’m good. Sorry about all the sneezing. I’m allergic to dust, and when I reached for these tapes, your drawer was _caked_ with it. _[Stutters.]_ Oh, er, well… S-sorry I went through one of your drawers. I-I swear I didn’t… _[Pauses]_ Mean to...? _[Hurriedly.]_ Well, I-I mean, I obviously did? Bu-but not because I wanted to, like, go snooping through your things or whatever. _[Trailing]_ Obviously, if I wanted to do that, I’d’ve gone and done it already...

It was the tapes. And... yeah, I guess I c-could’ve tried to find some that you didn’t have put away under lock and key, but I… These…  _ [Sighs, takes another breath.] _ These ones are particularly important. I can feel it. They didn’t so much call as, eh, rather,  _ scream  _ for me to bring them here. 

In fact… I think I know what they’re about. Look at the date—I mean, sorry, that’s stupid, you obviously can’t look at it… Although, maybe…? Maybe, I mean, maybe the Eye powers will let you… Know…? I never actually….how  _ do _ the tapes work with you, anyhow? Am I just… broadcasting all of this to Elias, or the Watcher, or… You know what…  _ [Muttering to himself.] _ I’m not going to think about that. 

Alright, so these are the tapes for Case #0162907, A and B. July the 29th, 2016. That was…

_[Exhales]_ That’s the date for Prentiss’ attack on us, nearly four years ago already. Time really does fly when you’ve constantly got to be stopping apocalypse after apocalypse, eh? _[Laughs dryly_ _]_ To think that it’s been so long since those… _[Shudders, his voice audibly faltering under the weight of the unwelcome memories._ _]_ W-worms… Ugh. Sorry, but I- still just can’t stand the thought of them. 

_ [Hurriedly.] _ I-I mean, sure, all living beings deserve some respect, so I don’t…, y’know…, I try not to step on ants, and I never ever gas roaches or spiders with bug spray. That would be awful of me. Tim and Sasha would roll their eyes at me whenever I insisted on getting any little insect out of the room safely rather than killing it, sure. I didn’t really like their jabbing, but…, I mean, how’d you like it if some enormous creature came and killed you just because? S’not like they can help it. Although...  _ [Breathy chuckle.]  _ I guess  **you’d** know what that feels like. Y’know, being hunted, and cut up, and kidnapped…, because someone doesn’t like you much.

Sorry. That was completely off-topic.  _ [Clears his throat.] _ Getting back to the tapes, I brought a third one. Aside from the two related to the.., eh…, Prentiss incident…, I found another one. Number #0-1… 7… I think that’s a seven, at least?..., 1-8-0-2.

This one doesn’t really ring any bell…? Wait, let me just…

_ [Martin doesn’t finish the sentence, busy as he is putting said tape inside another recorder.] _

_ [CLICK] _

> “Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Arch — _ [sigh] _ former Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a childhood encounter with a book formerly possessed by Jurgen Leitner. Statement recorded by subject, February 18th, 2017. Statement begins.
> 
> “I have been thinking a lot over the last couple of days about how this began. For me, that is. I cannot help but feel that, hand in hand with the death of Jurgen Leitner…”
> 
> _ [The tape plays on as Martin listens in careful silence. Occasionally he gawks at some gruesome bits of the Archivist’s tale, but aside from that, he’s quiet as a mouse.] _
> 
> “...it has made me reconsider my attitude to getting help. I have consistently kept the others at arm’s length, tried to deal with things myself, and it… It hasn’t gone well. Whatever is going on, this “Unknowing” that S — _ Not! _ Sasha was talking about, Elias killing Gertrude and maybe Leitner as well… I need help. I need allies. I just wish this revelation didn’t come just as everyone is convinced I’m a deranged killer.”

_ [CLICK] _

_ [Heavy silence, as Martin taps his fingers on the recorder.] _ Well. This…  _ [Sighs.] _ This explains a lot, actually. 

Somehow, I feel like listening to this was a really intimate thing. ‘Cause I, uh, heh, I’ve never heard you talk about your childhood — or your past at all, actually. Nor yourself...? Like, at all...? Hm. So, yeah. This is...  _ strange _ . 

I-I can’t really say that I’m sorry that guy interfered. Which probably makes me a horrible person, right?, because he was so young, and he — he  **died** .

_ [Resolutely]  _ But if it hadn’t been him, Jon, it would’ve been you. And even if the fact that someone died at all is still awful… I personally find it easier to come to terms with when said someone is a teenager who thinks it’s alright to pick on an eight year old. For Christ’s sake, Jon, that kind of people are the ones who grow up into the Elias Bouchards of the world. So, if someone had to die… It sits better with me that it was him who took the fall, instead of you.

A-and look at all the good you’re trying to do! You’ve grown into someone who tries to do what’s right, and… Well, I can’t say I’m sorry that you got the chance to! This is, of course, only because if it hadn’t been him, it would’ve been you. All my, eh, not being sorry, I mean. 

It’s not that I’m not sorry. Rather, I’m… Comparatively less sorry. What I mean is, I’m glad you didn’t get eaten by Mr. Spider. B-but I’m not glad that he did, that’s not what I… Well…  _ [Mutters something to himself.] _ Alright, that came out extremely wrong. 

I…  _ [The two tapes regarding the Prentiss attack fall to the floor by accident, drumming against the tiles _ . _ ] _ Aw, nutters! Sorry! Didn’t mean to... Wait, let me just…There.  _ [Low thump, as Martin places the tapes on top of the table.] _ Yes, there. Sorry. Didn’t mean to damage any of your tapes, but I’m running out of space here. Really, Jon, you couldn’t throw yourself into a bigger, more convenient coffin of doom?  _ [Tsks.] _ So inconsiderate from you.

Surely I should play them, just to make sure they really are alright. But…  _ [Sighs.] _ I can’t. I mean, sure, I’ll leave them playing on my way out. It’s just that… I… I can’t bring myself to listen to them. Painful memories come back to me whenever the subject is brought up, and even when I see a worm — even if it’s a normal, un-supernatural one. So… I-I don’t think I’m ready to listen to them. Not yet, at least.

Yet.  _ [Short, bitter chuckle.] _ Maybe I  **never** will be. Maybe I’ll have to tiptoe around the issue for the rest of my life. Even then, even if I never listen to the tapes, even if I never talk about it… I can’t escape it. Not really. It’s so vivid in my mind. Some nights it all happens again, in my nightmares, y’know?, and I can’t do a thing. I can’t do a thing, Jon. Only…  _ Watch _ . 

In my nightmares, I can’t close my eyes or turn around, either.

O-of course, you’re there every single time.

Not as in… Surely you remember, too. During the attack, we found ourselves trapped together inside the bunker. And, see, the worms were about everywhere, so we couldn’t do much besides sheltering in there and trying to keep them from crawling in. So we’re there, right, a-and Tim showed up in the hallway, Prentiss right behind him. Sasha ran out after him, and then... We were alone, with absolutely no idea if they were still alive or not — and, since you couldn’t see through the peephole with your leg and all, you had  _ me  _ tell  _ you  _ what was out there. I was just happy to talk, that you even…, _ wanted _ me to talk to you. 

We hadn’t really talked much before. Not really. I mean, yeah, I reported all the post-statement info I found whenever you asked us to do some research, and I brought you tea. But I brought tea to even  _ Elias _ , so that wasn’t anything to write home about anyways.

My point is, we didn’t know each other much. At least, not truly. But we weren’t complete strangers, either. So when you said something along the lines of “Only an idiot would stay in this job,” and I replied, “But that would make you an idiot,” and you looked at me in the eye and said, “That’s the whole point, Martin,” yeah, t-that’s what you said…, kinda?  _ [Stuttering, nervous] _ I-I mean, I-I’m pretty sure t-that’s literally it —when you said that, I knew you weren’t right. You weren’t an idiot. Really stiff, and maybe a bit thick, and a little snobbish sometimes, sure, but you weren’t an idiot, Jon.

And a little afterwards, you tried to ‘rationalize’ everything that was happening , as if it were just another statement you could be skeptic about. I called you out on your act, and you admitted that you did, in fact, believe. Deep down, you didn’t just believe—you knew everything in the statements was real. It wasn’t scepticism that you were feeling. It was just a mask for your fear.

Back then, I didn’t say anything, because it wasn’t really the moment. But… I think it’s utterly understandable. Y-your being afraid, I mean. Coming across a Jürgen Leitner at such a young age must’ve left its mark. And even if you said it was the beginning of your interest in the supernatural, I believe it wasn’t just that—it was the beginning of your fear of it, too. Which is okay. 

I-I mean, Jesus Christ, Jon, your Leitner was  _ really  _ nasty. All of them are, of course, but the way you talked about it, Mr. Spider was even worse than average. You were eight, you said? There’s literally  **no way** you could’ve gotten out alive and unafraid. Or  _ maybe  _ there is, but that would’ve meant there was something seriously wrong with you. 

_ [ _ _ Sighs. _ _ ] _ Maybe… Maybe that’s why the Eye chose you, rather than Sasha. Although Gertrude thought she was fit for being her successor as Head Archivist, I don’t think she was involved the way you were. Not only were you interested in the, uh, the paranormal phenomena, which now we know are caused by the Entities. You were also  _ actively willing to know more _ . Hungry for knowledge, just like the Beholding is. But you were afraid of the unknown, too. Of what may be lurking in the shadows. Ever since I first met you, I’ve gotten this feeling that you’re afraid not because you know there are beings out there that could hurt you—rather, because you don’t know what those beings are.

It’s all about not knowing enough, in the end. Enough to stop them, or to protect yourself, or to… Whatever. You want to know. Because not knowing what terrifies you is far worse than being scared of what you know.

…

Or, eh… Heh,  _ [ _ _ laughs nervously _ _ ] _ , or, at least, that’s one possibility. Right? Just… It’s simply my little conspiracy theory about your being chosen as an Avatar, but obviously, it’s simply that. Theory. So, yeah. I, uh… I think I should get back to work. It’s late, and I want to finish some things before I turn in, so. Uh. 

Goodbye, I guess?

Yeah. Right.

_ [CLICK] _

* * *

_ [CLICK] _

I just remembered… While we were inside the office, you also asked me whether I had died here, in the Archives. And that was just… Aws! I mean, you believed I might be a ghost. That… That was cute of you.

I don’t know if such things can be cute…? But I thought it was cute. 

Anyways.

Statement ends, for the day.

_ [CLICK] _

* * *

_ [CLICK] _

Jon, I really hope I’ll wake up tomorrow, and you’ll be back here. It’s been, uh… Today was the 25th, which means it’s been two days already. And that’s more than enough, I believe. You’ve already made your point. So… Make this my final statement, okay? 

Just… Get back. We can figure something out to stop the Entities from turning our world into some chaotic circus of fears, but only  **if** you get back. As long as you’re gone, I’m too worried to be of any use to stopping the Extinction, and it’s, heh, it’s something I should get done as soon as possible. Y’know, to avoid the death of all human beings, and stuff like that... 

So… Consider it a favour to the world as we know it. 

And get. 

Back.

You owe us all, Jon.

Please?

_ [CLICK] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this is getting old already? Nah. Kindness NEVER gets old, or at least it shouldn't (lol, manners should rule the world and not money), so here's my chapterly thank-you to oddity-txt (Tumblr user), who both helped me figure out the tricky writing in some paragraphs and lifted my spirits until they were nearly out of the atmosphere and up among the stars; and to WibblyTheSpaceAce (AO3 user), who makes the kindest and most accurate corrections as well! <3 
> 
> Also, a HUUUGE thanks to everyone who's left kudos, and a bonus bag of Doritos to those who left comments. It means THE WORLD to me! After so long away from the writing business, these things really help me to keep going, to keep typing, and to keep dreaming up strange fanfiction. So really, thanks and Doritos <3


	5. Case #0172603-A

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON] _

Um… Hello, J on. G’morning.

Give me a second, I just need to— Oof!  _ [Sounds of tapes rustling against each other, as Martin places a box on top of Jon’s desk with a thumping sound] _

Big breakfast today!  _ [Chuckles nervously.] _ I-I’m just kidding, y-you obviously don’t  **eat** tapes. You’d ruin your teeth, and plastic isn’t very nutritious… But I did bring you a lot of statements, to lift your spirits! 

It’s, eh, really early in the morning… Early enough that maybe, just maybe, it’s actually really late into the night? Anyways, nobody’s here in the Institute yet—not even Julio, the new concierge. It’s just me and the tapes.

W-well, a-and you, obviously.

Not  _ you _ . I-I mean, yes, y-you, but rather… The Buried, with you inside.

_ [Heavy sigh ensues. The desk’s wood creaks as Martin leans forward.] _

Anyway, my point here is that we’re alone, you and I… And the tapes, I guess? It’s, I suspect, a little early for breakfast. Not even Peter’s gotten here yet, and he’s the sort of boss who really believes in  _ [in a deep, throaty voice, emphasizing every vowel] _ punctuality being the soul of business. Me, I, uh—

_ [Clears his throat, and shifts in his seat. He starts drumming his fingers on the desk.] _

I’ve stayed the night. Here, in the Institute, I mean. I-it wasn’t really… I didn’t  _ enjoy  _ it. In fact, eh, well, this place gives me the creeps even when it’s full of co-workers in the mornings, so, um. Yeah, it… I don’t think it was a great idea. At least, not for my mental health. I-I slept here, in your office. Hope you don’t mind.

_ [Sighs.] _ Truth is, I barely slept at all! Around half-past one I dozed off for, what, two hours or so, but then I woke with the horrible feeling that there were… Worms… All over me, crawling under my clothes and under my skin and under my fingernails and just everywhere, Jon, they were everywhere, and I wanted to scream but for some reason I couldn’t, y’know?, I couldn’t, my voice just wouldn’t work, and then I could feel my bones, Jon, all of them, as they shifted and my flesh began turning and tearing open and the worms were inside the wounds and I…  _ [Pauses to breathe in deeply. He does so several times before going on.] _

Okay. It’s alright. I’m alright. That was just… Okay. Okay, right.  _ [Continues to take deep breaths, and slowly, the quivering in his voice softens.]  _ S-sorry for that, Jon. I just… So far, it’s been a terrible night.

But complaining about it isn’t very useful, right? 

_ [Long pause. Martin’s shallow breathing is faintly audible.] _

Right. I know all of you would kill me if you found out I’ve been here on my own—Basira, Daisy, you… Or…

_ [Static noise.] _

Actually, I think you might be the only one who could consider getting worried about it. I’m not… Nobody talks much to me anymore. Maybe it’s better that way. When I was around more often, I… Nobody found my presence useful. Because it…  _ Wasn’t _ , I guess.  _ [Static grows louder.] _

In a way, staying here all alone, it’s... Not that different from my day. During my shift there isn’t a single soul to ask me how I’m doing, and I simply do what I’m told by Peter the way I did what you, or Elias, told me. And now, um, there’s obviously nobody here, and I’m doing what the, the  **tapes** command me to, so.

_ [Sighs _ . _ ] _ At least now I feel like I’m of some use. I-I mean, I’m trying to be so… I don’t think I’m so at all. Not really. But still, I stayed. I... had to, Jon. For you. Because… If you got out of that place and found yourself still alone and in the dark, Jon, I—I wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror ever again. I know better than most people how it feels like, to see that nobody cares enough to be there for you. I know how it  _ hurts _ .

_ [The static noise is almost deafening now. After a few seconds, it begins to die down as Martin drags a box that was on the floor closer to him. There’s a thumping sound when he places said box on the desk, right in front of him.] _

Um, but hey, I’m not fully alone! These little guys here…, the tapes, I mean… They were really insistent that I bring them here. Sorry, by the way, for the messy state I left your Tape Storage room in. I-I really tried my best to leave it as neat as it all was, b-but the lack of sleep, plus my natural clumsiness, plus the little spider that came out of nowhere while I was trying to put everything back in its place… Well. I-I can only say that I, again, am sorry. 

But some tapes were pretty hard to reach, alright? The box they were in was under a lot more boxes. It took a while, and a lot of moving stuff around, but in the end I managed to bring all the, eh, most insistent ones. Wait, I’m going to tell you which.

_ [Tapes rustle against each other as Martin puts his hand inside the box repeatedly, taking out one at a time.] _

These are cases… Um… Jon, is your mother tongue Ancient Egyptian? How on  _ Earth  _ did you get admitted into uni with a handwriting like this!? If you think I’m giving you a hard time by complaining about it, just try to read them  **yourself** . This is solid proof that I don’t get paid enough.  _ [Snorts _ . _ ] _

Apologies in advance if I get any case number wrong. 

Although, now that I think of it, it’s you who owes an apology to anyone who’s ever tried to read these labels.  _ [Snorts again.] _

Let’s see.  _ [Slowly.] _ Case #0131103, here, and then there’s Case #9900112. Over here, we’ve got Case #8450512… Uh, this would  _ [small pause] _ be  _ [stretching the “e” sound]... [Inhales sharply.] _ Case, I think, um, #01… 2, 1… 1? No, sev—no, no, no, i-it’s  **definitely** a one. Case #0121102.

Phew.  _ [Stays silent for a moment, then sighs _ . _ ] _ Next one, next, let’s see, I’ve got here… Case… #9721207. Um, yeah, I think that’s it?  _ [Clicks his tongue.] _ Ugh, there’s a yellow stain that has made it even blurrier. I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but... I believe I got it right.

Two more to go.  _ [In a low voice] _ Only two. You got this, Martin. You’ve got eyes like magnifying lenses! There’s no tape label that you can’t decipher!

Here we’ve got tape number #9970509… Whoa, that one was surprisingly easy to read…? And last, but not least, case #8312111.

Oh, uh, and… Well, I…  _ [Chuckles nervously.] _ Uh, this is kind of… Weird… Even if you aren’t physically present. N-no, I-I mean, you  **are** here.  _ [Stuttering in crescendo, as he tries to explain himself.]  _ O-only, “here” a-as in “d-deep down in a creepy, and most p-probably deathly, underground dimension inside an old wooden coffin,” i-it’s  _ that one  _ kind of here, w-which isn’t fully here b-but neither is it fully elsewhere. Y-you’re not  **as** here as you c-could…W-which isn’t good at all! Don’t g-get me wrong! F-for the present purpose, though, I-I can’t say that it’s not a-an advantage…For, um, for  _ me _ . I-I mean, eh, just…

_ [Breathes in deeply, then holds his breath for a few seconds before breathing out.]  _ Give me a moment, I… Will be fine. 

_ [Under his breath.] _ Get it together, Martin. You’ve rehearsed this before recording three times, and you know exactly what you want to say. So j-just tell the tape recorder! You can do this.

Y-you can… Do this.  _ [In a louder voice, back to recording.] _ Aside from the seven statements I’ve told you about, Jon, I brought some more tapes. One or two of which…, or three… 

W-well, they might happen t-to be some of my p-poetry tapes.

I-I don’t really… I mean, my…  _ [Sighs.] _ Just… Don’t really know  **why** I brought them, if I’m being honest. Even if I really try, I’m a mediocre poet, at best—so d-don’t expect anything worth your time. This one here is the second one I ever did on tape. So, um. Yeah. Not good poetry overall, and nothing that can be placed among my best works. I-if you ever listened to it, you would surely mistake it for a statement by a drunkard. But, um, I-I didn’t bring them because they were good. Which, again, they are not… 

Really. Look, Jon, I-I know I’m not good at it. If I haven’t quit this hobby yet, it’s only because i-it helps me pour all my feelings into something other than worrying uselessly about a boss who’s so eager to get killed, or a—a fifteenth Eldritch horror god emerging to mess with all of us. S-so, if you ever  _ do  _ l-listen to any of them, please don’t feel in any kind of compromise to give me any feedback. I-I would rather appreciate it if you d-didn’t show them to anyone else, t-too. 

Actually, I’d rather never know whether you’ve listened to them or not. My, eh… I believe my dignity couldn’t take it. So, Jon, if you ever really listen to any of my poetry tapes, you just… Keep quiet about it, alright? Act as if you had never crossed paths with them. Please. 

So those were all the tapes I got you for breakfast.  _ [Yawning.] _ I don’t think I’m gonna be of much use to Peter today… Can’t even keep my eyes open for longer than three seconds. 

Maybe I should… Nap, or… Get some more… Sleep…  _ [The yawns become longer and more frequent, disrupting his speech.] _

Yeah. It… May be a good i… dea…

_ [His breathing becomes more even as he begins to fall asleep.] _

Just i… In case…

End recording.

_ [CLICK.] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one time I posted the chapter before any beta could be done by my two guardian angels, so if there's any typo/grammar crime, blame's fully on me, because wE DiE liKE aRChIvaL aSsIStANtS iN THiS hoUsE! Also, thanks to everyone who's given this a shot so far, left kudos, and even bookmarked the story. But specially to AO3 users Aryashi, Poiby, rowan2060, and Songoftheskies for taking the time to leave such kind comments. You guys really made me smile, and I just <3


	6. Case #0172603-B

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON] _

_ [Yawning.] _ Hello uh-uh-gain, Jon. Again, I mean. Hello again. It’s still the 26th of March, 2017, and… You still aren’t back.  _ [Sighs.] _ For some reason I hoped that bringing you all those tapes would make it easier for you to escape from the Buried, but… It obviously didn’t work out as I expected. 

Very few things do these days, eh? _ [Faint static noise.] _ Why would luck bother with Martin “Loser” Blackwood, anyways?  **Exactly.** There’s  **no** reason why it would, so it simply... Doesn’t. Like, at all.

Ugh. _[Snorts.]_ Sorry, but I tend to get grumpy whenever I haven't gotten enough sleep. And I, uh, you’ll already know if you're listening to these tapes... Because you’re the kind of OCD-ish guy who would rather not play them at all, than play them without paying any attention to their order... But yeah, I've had the worst night of my entire life.

…

_ [Pause.] _

Anyways. Sorry for leaving bread crumbs all over the creepy coffin, but I’m recording this tape while on my brunch break.

Yeah, I know, I know, “Martin, what does ‘brunch’ even mean, why can’t you have both breakfast and lunch, separately, just like any civilized person.”  _ [Snorts.]  _ Well, I’m sorry, but it’s  **not** my fault if I slept through my scheduled breakfast time and woke just in time to be late for work. It’s..., i-it's this place’s fault. Just like everything else, okay? It's the Institute's, eh, maleficence. So, yeah, it's neither breakfast nor lunch time, but nonetheless I’m treating myself to a mouth-watering bagel and some green tea. And, let me tell you, whoever doesn’t approve can leave their opinion on the list of ‘Things Martin Blackwood Absolutely Doesn’t Care About’. That includes you, Mister  _ [in a high-pitched, falsetto voice] ‘ _ Brunches Shall Not Be Spoken Of In My Archives’.

_[Pause. Background crunching sounds, as Martin takes a bite of his bagel.]_

I... _ [Sighs.] _ Did it again, right?  _ [Sighs again.] _ I  _ swear  _ I’m not behaving like a jerk on purpose. It’s just that sleep deprivation…  _ [Clicks his tongue.] _ This feeling of… Lentitude… And drowsiness… It really gets on my nerves. My mum—she used to tell me that it was because it makes it even more evident that I’m a voice breaking good-for-nothing, king-sized fool.  _ [Static noise grows, turning nearly deafening for a moment before dying down.] _

And, eh…  _ [Sniffs.] _ She’d give me hell, too, for the mess of crumbs I’ve made while eating the bagel. Which kind of brings me back to my point. So, like. Sorry for leaving bread crumbs all over the creepy coffin. Hopefully it won’t make it hungry? Bagels can be quite the temptation. And believe me, this one tastes like glory.

Uh…  _ [Chuckles nervously.] _ Yeah, I..., it definitely wouldn’t be good if the, y’know, the Buried were hungry. Not while you’re inside of it, specially—well, not only you. Daisy too. It’s the two of you inside the coffin.

So, um. Yeah. I might as well make sure that there’s no bread anywhere near the coffin. No food at all, in fact. Let’s get this cleaned up.

_ [Rustling sounds, as Martin wipes the crumbs off the coffin with his hand.] _

Looks good now. Neat. 

Right.  _ [Short pause.]  _ Eh, I guess that didn’t make much sense. The rambling about bagel-craving coffins, I mean. But it’s just that…

_ [Sighs.] _ For some reason, Jon, I can’t help thinking that if I do this, or if I refrain from doing that, or if I knock on the door in this particular way before entering your office to leave more tapes… Well, it might do the trick. It might be the key to helping you get back. 

Before you make any comments, I  _ know  _ it’s only an illusion of control, and that it’s neither real nor useful. Even if I did lie about having a master’s degree in Parapsychology, I listen to a lot of podcasts in my free time. There’s this one I found back in January, _"Get Psyched!"_ , that’s really interesting... On my way here yesterday, I listened to the episode on the Pygmalion Effect. Which may sound like something utterly unrelated to the illusion of control, but just you wait. This Pygmalion Effect, however bombastic the name may sound, is a phenomenon that takes place whenever we have beliefs or certainties about what will happen to us in the future, or the way we are, or the way our environment works. 

Take... Take a bad student, for example. If they believe that they're hopeless, and that they will never achieve good grades because they've been bad students in the past, whenever they take an exam those beliefs will kick in. These students, see, they'll unconsciously trick themselves into believing they can't do well in their exam—so their performance will be poor, partly, because _they_ expect it to be poor. Of course, when they are given their grades and these are, as expected, low, they'll see said beliefs reinforced, and so this vicious cycle will go on and on.

Uh, okay, I digress—but what I mean is, I know these…  _ Rituals…  _ Sorry for using the r-word… They are only a trick of my own mind. One I'm playing on myself without knowing. It's my own subconscious, trying to comfort me with the lie of having some kind of power over things and their happening. But it  _ does  _ make me feel better, y'know. Even if I know it’s not real, it still works. Which is kind of... The whole point of it? It makes me feel useful, like… Like I’m actually helping you, somehow, get out alive. Like I’m getting on fate’s good side, so that it will consider handing you back.

_ [ _ _ Pause. _ _ ] _

_ [ _ _ Sighs. _ _ ] _ Well, let’s see to these cases. 

These are… Case #0160… 1… 12, that’s #0160112, and Case #01619… 09. Or, at least, I believe they are so—one can never be sure when it comes to your handwriting. Um… I don’t really know which… _[_ _Clicks his tongue._ _]_ _[_ _Exhales._ _]_ Doesn’t really matter. I’m going to play both all the same, so. Here goes Case #0160112.

_ [He hits play on a different tape recorder.] _

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

> “I really shouldn’t be talking about it on tape.”
> 
> “That’s entirely up to you. You came to us.”
> 
> “Yeah… Just wanna talk about it with someone, you know?”
> 
> “Very much so.”
> 
> “I’m breaking the law by talking to you. You understand that?”
> 
> “I.. Think so. Some so—”

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

_ [Brief sound of tape rewinding.]  _

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

> “—became Section 31.”
> 
> “Yes, you mentioned. This Section Thirty—you know what, we will cover it in the statement.
> 
> “Statement of Police Constable Basira Hussain, regarding her time investigating… Strange occurrences as part of Section 31. Statement taken direct from subject, September 19th, 2016. Statement begins.”
> 
> “Now?”
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> “Right, we—”

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

Basira’s first statement. Uh.  _ [ _ _ Chuckles.] _ Of course it would be hers. Which means that this other tape is going to be…

_ [Stillness, save for the clicking sounds of the recorder as Martin switches tapes.] _

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

> “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”
> 
> “Knock yourself out.”
> 
> “Right.”
> 
> “ ‘Course, if anyone else ever hears it…”
> 
> “You’ll arrest me.”
> 
> “Heh. No.”

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

_ [Brief sound of tape rewinding.] _

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

> “—fed me a couple of tapes to keep me around?”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “And now you know I’m innocent…?”
> 
> “Hm. I reckon we should cut you off, but Basira’s soft. She likes you. No idea why. Maybe she keeps feeding you tapes—doesn’t involve me, I don’t plan on seeing or hearing anything about it.”
> 
> “Well… Thank you, Detective Tonner.”
> 
> “Daisy.”
> 
> “Thank you, Daisy.”
> 
> “Sure—”

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

_... _

_ [ _ _ Pause.]  _

_ [ _ _ Static noise is faintly, but definitely, audible in the background.] _

So you two are Basira and Daisy’s first statements, eh?  _ [ _ _ Chuckles dryly.]  _ How appropriate. Two women who have done nothing but give you hell since they crossed paths with you. But of course you’d draw strength from their statements. You’re self-destructive that way. And I don’t think either of you knew back then, but these statements…, it definitely sounds like you compelled Daisy’s out of her. Not that sure about Basira’s, but…

You know what, Jon? 

I’m just  _ [ _ _ in a whisper]  _ so sick of it.

_ [Slams his hand on the table.  _ _ Shouting now.]  _ Of everything! These two have been  **awful** to you, Jon, to all of us. Basira—s-she’s been  _ elusive _ , at best, more so since Daisy disappeared. But just you wait, Jon, because that’s the least of my concerns about her. I  _ know  _ she’s been talking to Elias, and following his every command. Before you start questioning me, Peter told me. And he had evidence backing him up.  _ [ _ _ Static noise building up.] _ But you’d still doubt me, right? Even if I showed you actual, reliable footage of her talking to him, you’d still think that there must be a reasonable explanation why she’s been doing that. You’d still choose to believe in  _ her _ , rather than trust  _ me _ .

And Daisy? Need I remind you of the scar from when she tried to slit your throat? Yet you still went down there. You still chose her over the rest of us. Over me.

_ [ _ _ His voice is difficult to hear through the deafening static buzz.]  _ You’d always choose anyone else over me. Because I’m just Martin, the nuisance. Martin, the good-for-nothing assistant. Martin, the weirdo, the clown, the stupid, the worthless, the useless. Martin, the one never worth your time. Martin, the…  _ [ _ _ Voice breaks into a sob.]  _

I’m tired, Jon. N-not only from not sleeping—I’m tired of  _ this _ . O-of trying to protect the people I care about, only to f-find out they will  **never** reciprocate, and—  _ [ _ _ The following sentences are impossible to make out through the static noise.]  _ —lieves I’ve switched sides. I know all of you see me as P-Peter’s lapdog. A-and that’s not true, it’s never been—but nobody will  _ ever  _ know, because nobody will ever be interested in doing so. Beca—  _ [ _ _ the rest of the sentence is drowned out by the static noise, as well.] _

_ [ _ _ Hiccups.] _ I-I’m really tired. Most d-days I go to sleep wishing that I won’t have to wake up ever again  _ [ _ _ hiccup], _ b-because every day is more exhausting than the last. I don’t want to take this anymore.

_ [ _ _ Thud.] _ Oh. This coffin may be evil reincarnated, but it feels… Warm. Wait, I’m going to take off my glasses before I fall asleep with my face against the lid and crush them.

Jon…

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all I said before. Even if you all think those things about me, even if it’s true, I shouldn’t…

_ You’ve  _ changed. Don’t know whether you can see it, but I do. The Jon that was appointed Head Archivist years ago wouldn’t have even believed that this coffin was a thing at all, and he sure as blazing hell wouldn’t have gone inside it willingly. And yet. Here were are, eh? Things have changed. So much. We have changed, too.

_ [ _ _ Long pause ensues.] _

...

Look, I think I know what you’re trying to do. And I understand, Jon. I really do. Even if it means awful things get to happen to you, I can’t say I don’t get why you’re doing this. You…

Maybe being an Avatar of the Beholding is turning you into a supernatural creature, a…  _ [ _ _ Sighs.] _ Monster, as you’d put it. But your choices count, too, and they’re making you more human. Take Jane Prentiss, take Peter, take any Avatar you can think of. They surely weren’t monsters when they fell into the hands of the Entities. They became so because they stopped caring. And you…

You’re trying to make things right, I think. To bring back together what little’s left from our team. I don’t know it, but I—I do **feel** it. You haven’t stopped caring. You’ve  _ started  _ caring. Otherwise you wouldn’t have risked going inside the Buried for an ex-cop who tried to kill you more than once. And this doesn’t mean that I’m okay with the situation. It doesn’t mean I’ve come to terms with it. Simply….  _ [ _ _ Sighs.] _ I get why you thought it was the right thing to do. I understand, Jon.

It’s a pretty hot-headed decision, and frankly, leaving only a rib and a note behind is kinda  _ gross _ . Even for Institute standards. But… It’s also brave. I don’t think  _ I _ would’ve been able to make that choice, to go down the coffin stairs. 

Just…  _ [ _ _ Sighs]. _ I’m really trying not to lash out again, so I’m going to finish this recording before I bite someone else’s head off. So to say, I mean, just… Figuratively, of course. I mean, ew, I’m sorry if this offends the Flesh but… Gross image. Ew.

Anyways.

Even if my attitude earlier on this tape was… Misleading… I still want you to get outta here  _ [ _ _ knocks on the coffin’s lid] _ alive. You better make sure you do. Or else.

Or else.

End statement.

_ [ _ _ CLICK] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may sound weird, if any TMA listener who's reading this hasn't got Tumblr or, if they do, hasn't come across THE legendary post. But. Fsr I can't stop thinking about writing this dumb alternative ending to S4, where the giant crab saves the day from the Eyepocalipse and kicks Elias Bastard's (sorry, I absolutely meant to offend you, Elias) skinny ass. Lol? Somebody please convince me that it's too dumb to be a good idea?


	7. Case #0172603-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY for the delay! To make it up to you guys, this chapter is a bit longer than usual + has a sweet ending!

_[TAPE CLICKS ON]_

_[Sounds of tapes rustling against each other.] [Martin’s breath is heavy.]_

Ngh—

H-hey, Jon, it’s Martin… Ugh!, again—

Sorry, I just… Need to… Put this down…

_[Some more panting. With a sudden thumping sound, the tape rustling comes to an end. Only Martin’s ragged breaths remain audible.]_

Okay, I, eh… I really needed to put those down. They are fewer tapes than you’d expect from all my, y’know, heavy breathing, but… Ugh. _[drawing in short breaths]_ From the basement to here, there are three flights of stairs… Gosh, I hate it when there are stairs… 

_[Martin takes a few seconds to catch his breath.]_

Before you start complaining, Jon, yeah, I know you don’t like to go through your first recordings, leave alone have other people doing so. Yeah, yeah, I know, “Martin!”, but come _on._ It’s for a good cause this time! Also, there are _[clears his throat]_ many things that you **don’t** like, so... Sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with them happening. A-and hey, it’s not as if I were going to hold them against you! Or pass them around. Or mock you by repeating your snarky after-statement remarks whenever you’re being overly obnoxious...

...Well, okay. There’s actually a lot of potential minor evil I could do, with these tapes in my power. So... I guess there are solid reasons why people who touch your Magnus Institute stuff behind your back get on your nerves. Or… Just any of your stuff. I-it happens to me too, so don’t worry, Jon. You’re not the only one who freaks out about it.

 _[Pause.]_ When… After the Prentiss attack, when I moved out of the Institute, I, eh, _[under his breath]_ left some of my poetry notebooks around… Not on purpose, obviously. With everything that was on my mind, I forgot about them. And Tim… Tim found them, and went through one or two. 

Now, d-don’t think he gave me hell for them! He didn’t. _[Hurriedly]_ I don’t think he was in the right mood for discussing amateur poetry. None of us were, a-and if we’re being honest?, I don’t think we’ll be for a long time. But he… _[Sighs.]_ This one night, he and I were leaving the Institute after a particularly nerve-wracking day of you bossing us around and being paranoid… And okay, I wasn’t happy about how you had treated us. But Tim?, Tim was really, **really** annoyed. He started complaining that you weren’t respecting basic boundaries, such as our _privacy._ Then, at this one point… _[Sighs.]_ He quoted one of my poems, and said that he couldn’t understand how I thought so highly of you.

O-of course, I-I didn’t know how to react. _[Stuttering]_ I-I-I m-mean, he had g-gone through my poetry and. Hadn’t... _[Sighs.]_ Instead of t-telling me he had found my notebooks, or just… Giving them back… He went ahead and read them cover to cover. And I don’t know, Jon. There he was, complaining that you didn’t respect basic boundaries, and suddenly he made it obvious that **he** hadn’t respected **mine** , either. I… _[Static noise.]_ He asked whether I was angry, but I wasn’t. Not really. It was…

I felt empty. _[Brief pause]_ Poetry is my only escape from reality, my only refuge when the world turns just too weird and painful to bear. And it… Suddenly it wasn’t anymore. _[Quietly sobbing.]_ Tim had broken into my safe place, and there was no way I could ever return to those pages without the fear that someone could, at any given moment, steal them from me. 

Part of what made me _[drumming his fingernails against the desk]_ feel so bad was the fact that he hadn’t thought that maybe I didn’t want him, or anybody else, flipping through my poetry without my permission. He, he did say he was sorry—but that just wasn’t… It didn’t help. Because his eyes had already drunk in my verses. My feelings. My secrets, my truths, my… Tim had already read me in depth, and without my permission or even my awareness.

He knew how it felt, to have someone being intrusive and not caring about how that may hurt you. Yet he still didn’t stay away from my notebooks, my… My most intimate thoughts. _[Static noise grows louder.]_ All I wonder is why.

Why, Jon? Why am I never worth the same as the rest? _[Speech falters as he sobs.]_ Why c-can’t I be w-worthy of… Respect, o-of… Friends, o-of... Love... Why a-am I always t-the one left b-behind… Left a-alone… Jon, I… _[Static noise is nearly deafening now, as Martin cries.]_

 _[Sniffing, his voice coarse from crying]_ I-I understand what all your rules are a-about. S-sometimes you just…, _need_ t-to make certain boundaries and limits clear, because people won’t respect them otherwise. So I can’t really blame you for freaking out when they do so. _[Sighs.]_ Maybe you’ll freak out because I’ve done so. Broken your boundaries, I mean, by going downstairs to get these tapes from the basement. 

But I promise you, Jon, that I did it only because I know it will help you, somehow. Otherwise I w-wouldn’t have taken these tapes. I… _[Sighs.]_ I do try to respect everyone’s limits, the way _[softly]_ **I’d** like to have mine respected. And, well, I don’t know how this will sit with you… Maybe you do it on purpose, or maybe not, but Jon, you are particularly skilled to make it crystal clear when there’s something you won’t tolerate. Remember this one time, it must’ve been a billion years ago, when Tim ran out of ink and rummaged through your desk drawers looking for another pen… _[Chuckles.]_ Sasha and I were absolutely certain that you were going to fire him right on site. 

Um…

 _[Hesitating.]_ Was it even possible, back then? To fire one of us, I mean. Because, y’know, even if we didn’t know a thing about the true stuff the Institute deals with, all of us had already made a pact with the devil. We had all signed Elias’ contract for a full-time job at the Archives. And… I guess it was even fuller-time than any of us expected, in the end, eh?

Sorry. But what I wanted to say is that I know you come with your own terms and conditions, and… I’m okay with them. Even if some of them are a little… Particular. Or, as Melanie put it once…, you know how, eh, straightforward she is…, “Jon’s oddities are a big pain in the arse, and more often than not he could shove them up his”. Uh. _[To himself]_ God, I can’t believe I just said that! Gross. 

_[Pause.]_

... 

_[Pats the desk twice, and exhales slowly.]_ Sorry for all the rambling. I’m not my best self after a sleepless night—although, hey! At least I was able to turn down the crankiness a notch, after three cups of mint tea! Better than no progress at all.

Ugh, I don’t even know what I was trying to say. _[Muttering to himself.]_ Holy cannoli. I should really consider having blueberries..., or pumpkin seeds... or nuts…, with my morning green tea. These days, Martin, you’ve got a brain like a sieve.

 _[Yawning.]_ Ouaahnyways. Let’s talk about the tapes before I forget about them, too.

Ouah… _[Yawns again.]_ I’m going to take **such** a power nap after this. See—well, you can’t see me, obviously, but you get what I mean—I’m yawning so hard, I got tears in my eyes. 

Good news is, workday’s over already! My shift, that is. Half an hour ago, it ended, and as you might be guessing, it’s actually quite late. So, um, I’m just dropping by to leave you some more tapes before heading home. _[Apologetically]_ Or that’s what I meant to do, anyways, because I’ve been talking for a while now... But yeah, I’m shattered from last night and I need to turn in more than I need air, so. Let’s make this quick. I’m about to fall asleep while recording, and that’d be… Embarrasing. 

_[Pause, as Martin drags the box with all the tapes in front of himself.]_

… _[Clears his throat.]_

Let’s get this over with.Until I get some hours of decent sleep, and my neurons come back to life, I’d better talk as little as possible. Y’know, to try not to make a fool of myself. _[Quietly.]_ A bigger fool than usual, I mean.

…

 _[Halfheartedly slamming his forehead against the table.]_ Just get on with the tapes, Martin. Embarrassed yourself _enough_ already with all your complaints about poor Tim.

Alright. Give me a second, to go for a glass of water. Be right back, Jon.

_[CLICK]_

* * *

_[CLICK]_

_[Clears his throat.]_ Okay, so this is Martin Blackwood, recording his thoughts while reviewing Head Archivist Jonathan Sims’ first on-tape statements. It’s March 26th, 2017, and… I don’t know why I said all of that, honestly. _[Sighs_. _]_ But trying to find out is going to take _way_ longer than I’m willing to spend in here, so I will ignore the utter lack of sense of my introducing myself, for **everyone** ’s sake, and get this done.

First is Case #0122204, followed by Case #9982211. Then we’ve got Case #007017, and Case #0132806. Good Lord, it has indeed been a long time since you did these… Next ones up are Case #0092302, Case #0140912, and #9220611. 

And the remaining three…, which are _[under his breath]_ quite a challenge to my reading skills, honestly… Ahem. _[Clears his throat.]_ Case #00… 7… 1… 304?, Case #0020… Wait, this could be either a 3 or an 8… Next numbers up are 1-2, I believe, but this one… Ugh. _[Snorts.]_ Know what? Let’s say it is either Case #0020312 or Case #0020812. Whichever one **actually** exists. And the last one would be… Give me a second. Case #0100710.

Oww. _[The fabric of his sweater rustles as he rubs his eyes.]_ This office doesn’t have the brightest of light bulbs, and I should’ve gotten my sight checked a month or so ago. My eyeballs are gonna fall off my face any moment now… I know, I know, Jon, the more I rub my eyes, the worse the itch will be, so lower your hands and stop being stupid. But it’s nearly unbearable at this point!

_[Throaty noises, as Martin keeps on rubbing his eyes.]_

Wait, I-I’m gonna go splash a little water on my face… Ugh...

_[Sound of footsteps, fading away as Martin gets outside the office. The door closes behind him.]_

_[CLICK.]_

* * *

_[CLICK.]_

Alright, I’m back one more time. My eyeballs are still on fire, but at least now I can keep my hands to myself and not make it even worse. I also washed my hands…, so kudos to myself for the basic hygiene… And the water was freezing, so I’m slightly less sleepy now. _[Chuckles.]_ It’s a win-win-win situation, eh?

 _[Sighs.]_ Sorry for rambling. _Again_.

Oh, right! I was going to leave these tapes playing and head home, but before I go… I think I’m going to play your first tape and listen, Jon. For some reason she wants me to, so I hope you can forgive me on this one. Okay, just give me a sec…

_[He audibly fumbles with another recorder as he puts a tape iside of it. He clicks it on.]_

Here we go.

 _[CLICK]_

> “Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right. 
> 
> _[Cough.]_
> 
> “My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal—
> 
> _[Chuckling, as the tape plays on]_ So that’s what they called it back then, eh? Wild understatement, huh.
> 
> “—the Institute, Mr. Elias Bouchard—

Ha! More like Elias _Bastard_.

> “—ployed me to replace the previous Head Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, who has recently passed away.
> 
> “I have been working as a researcher at the Institute for four years now, and am familiar with most of our more significant contracts and projects. Most reach dead ends, predictably enough, as incidents of the supernatural, such as they are—and I always emphasise there are very few genuine cases—tend to resist easy conclusions. When an investigation has gone as far as it can, it is transferred to the Archives.

_[CLICK]_

Alright, alright. Just so we’re clear: this is such an understatement, it feels like an insult. We really didn’t know the first thing back then, eh? Can’t believe we were so… Naïve. There were so many things we knew nothing of, but who knew of us already. Things that are now either our patrons, our targets, our hunters, or all of the above.

_[Pause.]_

Who’d have thought things would get so muddy. Prentiss’ worms already felt like too much, and now? Now I’m talking to one of my boss’ tape recorders, with what’s most definitely a rib in front of me, while he’s on a self-imposed quest inside a murderous coffin to save a rude woman who’s been killing people in the name of the Hunt, and who nearly beheaded him not that long ago. _[Laughs bitterly.]_ Your average dose of eldritch horror as an archival assistant.

Everything has gotten so crazy, Jon. And I’m tired. Maybe that makes me a horrible person, but… Yeah, I’m tired. I’m tired of the Entities, of their Avatars, of the nightmares. I’m tired of everyone playing their own sick little game, and not giving a damn about what happens to the rest of us. I’m tired of everyone, period, but I’m also tired of being lonely. I’m. 

Tired.

_[Pause.]_

Maybe, when all of this is over, I’ll take some days off and move to the countryside. A small cottage in the woods would be good, don’t you think? One where there’s not much to do, beyond cooking when I’m hungry and going for a walk when I’m feeling restless. If I’m lucky enough, there will be a… farm, or something, nearby. _[Dreamily.]_ So I’ll get to see the cows grazing in the meadows, and listen to the sheep bleat, and maybe even pet a horse or two. 

If there’s a rooster…, and there’s always a rooster…, maybe it’ll wake me up early, and if it does, then I’ll get to turn around and fall asleep again. No alarms to arrive in time to the Institute, no stress over being late, no schedules to live by, no rush to save the world from yet another Entity’s ritual. 

And if there’s a chimney…, and I’ll make sure there is, because why the hell would you rent a cottage in the woods if it has no chimney… When the night falls and the wind blows and the chill tries to settle inside my bones, I’ll light a fire. One that quietly crackles as I hold up my hands to feel its warmth—and that burns bright enough that the flames alone will allow me to write in my notebook, or to read whichever book from my ‘To Be Read’ pile I’ve decided to bring along. 

_[Sighs.]_ Yeah. That’d be good. Maybe you…

 _[Chuckles.]_ How silly. I was going to say that maybe you will want to tag along, but… _[Chuckles again, although there’s an edge to it this time.]_ That’s nonsense. I don’t think you’d want to stay with me in the middle of nowhere as I go cowgazing in the mornings, and explore the woods in the afternoon, and write poetry in the evening, and sleep all night long, and just _rest_.

But _[softly]_ if you for some reason decided to come with me… 

That’d be nice.

I’d make you proper tea, and cook you something tasty for breakfast every morning, and show you how to listen to the forest’s song. I’d tell you what kind of birds nestle in what trees, and which constellations can be seen in the night sky from where our cottage is, and which logs burn better in the fireplace.

Yeah.

That’d be _really_ nice.

_[CLICK]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, I really enjoyed writing that ending! Soft boi Martin is the best Martin <3 Once again, this wasn't beta-read because here we die like archival assistants, so any typo/nonsense/unnecessary bit is solely and entirely my fault. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this little fic of mine so far, so don't be shy! :)


	8. Case #0172703-A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gUYYYS I'M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! As a treat, have a longer chapter with some Martin & Tim & Sasha quality content. (TW: depression)

_[TAPE CLICKS ON]_

_[Fabric rustling. A mattress creaks, as Martin sighs and sits up on bed.]_

Oh. You’re there, aren’t you? Hi. Seems like I’m not the only one who can’t sleep tonight, eh? _[Yawns.]_ Sorry for that, Jon—I promise I covered my mouth with my hand. Although… You aren’t really here, of course. Nobody is, I believe—I... _hope_ ? _[Nervously chuckling.]_ I mean, I’d be happy enough to invite friends over one night. But, in the meanwhile, I’d rather not have uninvited guests who are, most probably, going to steal even great auntie Poppy’s hand-sewn mantelpieces.

Sorry, I disgress. But why is there a tape recorder in my house, anyways? What brought you here? Because I sure as hell didn’t.

_[Martin stays quiet for a few seconds, rattling his fingertips against the bedside table.] [Sighs.]_ Archival assisting is pretty wild, indeed. First were flesh-eating worms, then the secret cults to evil powers, and now the stalker tape recorders which somehow follow me home. _[Under his breath.]_ This job is **definitely** underpaid. 

_[Silence.]_

_[The sheets rustle, as Martin tosses and turns in bed.]_

When I was little… _[Pause.]_ As a child, I couldn’t sleep most nights because I was afraid of monsters under my bed, and inside my wardrobe, and behind my shelves. Now I wish things would be that simple. I’d rather face a closeted monster than a full set of fourteen-but-maybe-soon-enough-fifteen ancient deities and their murderous cults.

Shame on me, right? If our lives were the plot for a TV show, or a book series, or even a podcast, they would be quality stuff. Maybe you’ve heard of this Netflix show, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’? It’s based on Shirley Jackson’s novel, but it’s a pretty free reimagining of the book. 

I think the Archives would run rings around Hill House, in terms of creepiness. Sure, the Bent-Neck Lady—that’s a character from the show, before you go paranoid trying to find out whether it’s a new Avatar of The Flesh or something—, she gives me the creeps. But the Avatars we’ve met, say, Nikola Orsinov? Or Jane Prentiss? Or Jude Perry? Peter? Elias? Even Gertrude, for God’s sake? A whole other league.

_[Long pause ensues.]_

Still recording, aren’t you. Is it because you want me to feed you a statement? Sorry to let you down, but my life is nothing to write home about. It’s just another tale of a _[muttering under his breath]_ lower-middle class guy trying to get through life without being given too much hell for it. It’s about as exciting as watching grass grow.

_[Pause.]_

Alright, alright. I’ll think of something. But it may take me some time to come up with an interesting story. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Let me see…

Most nights I feel seen. You know, by The Beholding. And I know it’s not a trick of my own mind, because it feels… _[Clears his throat.]_ I just _know_ it’s there. Don’t ask me how, because I couldn’t describe it for my life. 

Maybe it’s because of the quiet. It’s been different since I was appointed as your assistant. Thicker. Somehow… _[Fabric rustling, as he adjusts his posture]_ Dense. It might be just small-hour paranoia, but I swear to you, Jon, that for the past years the silence hasn’t been the same. When I was younger, the silence was good, so I tried not to disturb it. Not because I liked it. I actually didn’t. It made me feel lonely and empty and forgotten, and I didn’t like it.

It was my mother who did. When there was quiet, she wouldn’t be as angry. And my classmates liked it when I was quiet, too… O-or, rather, they didn’t notice me when looking for a, a p-punching bag, i-if I was quiet I mean, so _I_ liked that. _[Sighs.]_ So I learned to live in silence. Even now, I never step on the floorboards that I know will creak. And, when I go to the bathroom, I handle the doors so they won’t make a sound. 

Y-y’know, Sasha noticed. _[His voice breaks a little.]_ M-many times, she wouldn’t know I had c-come in until I asked her for something, or walked past her—a-and she’d scream _[in a high-pitched, falsetto voice],_ _‘Fucking fuckity fuck, Martin, at least say ‘hello’ so you don’t give me a heart attack!’_ before punching me in the shoulder. Also—she was the only person I’ve ever met who could say the words ‘fucking fuckity fuck’ with a straight face. 

And… Yeah, she noticed, and she told me to be less subtle around her **lots** of times. But I couldn’t just turn it off, y’know? It didn’t work that way. Not when it had kept me alive and mostly free from bruises for so many years. Once I learned all the tricks and picked up the habits…, well..., I couldn’t go back to an average level of noisiness. You can’t just… _[Takes a deep breath.]_ You can’t just turn into a ghost, and then come back to life the moment you’re allowed to. It doesn’t work that way. 

_[Pause.]_

_[Sighing_ . _]_ What I meant to say is that I’m familiar with silence, Jon. And I assure you that it shouldn’t be as tense and eerie as it’s been ever since we started to get deeper into this whole mess. 

At first, it was really subtle. Remember when we were all still… Alive… Back when you still tried to trick yourself into dismissing every statement related to the supernatural? _[Muttering.]_ Now that I think of it, Tim named those good ol’ times as… Eh… _[Clears his throat.]_ Well, I really don’t like to say such gross words out loud, so let’s just say that none of us could stand you much, Jon. You kinda got off on the wrong foot—you didn’t even say hello when you walked in! So yeah, Tim soon enough renamed you ‘The Arsechivist’. 

_[To himself.]_ Dear Lord, it sounds **awful**. Thank the Heavens that you can’t fire me. I reckon that, if it’s not Tim who says it, it’s threefold as offensive.

But, um, yeah. We weren’t your biggest fans back then, and you did… Um, little, let’s say, to change that. Tim and Sasha just waved it off with a clever nickname, and Arsechivist memes they made when follow-ups on statements were too boring to bear. That was enough for them to be completely chill about you, but I… Couldn’t. Maybe you’ve noticed, but the break room is right next to your office. If you ever heard a sound like someone was peeing next door, well, you were wrong. That was the sound of, eh, me brewing tea. _[_ Stuttering. _]_ A-and, yeah, if you could hear me pour the tea in the mugs, um. Just. It’s… 

Let’s say it, uh, worked **both** ways. When I closed the door on my way out, after handing you all I could find on whatever case you wanted us to follow up on, I could hear you. And… You weren’t very kind to me. I mean, you weren’t kind to anyone, but at least Tim and Sasha’s work was respected. Mine… _[Background static noise.]_ There was this one time, when you literally called me a “useless ass”... The sick days Elias gave me, they weren’t because of, um, whatever virus I blamed it on. 

I… Well, I really couldn’t get out of bed those days. And I-I didn’t w-want to. I just wanted to fade away so nobody would have to put up with me anymore. _[Static noise gets louder as he lets out a bitter chuckle.]_ Of course, the next time she saw me, my mother commented that I had “finally lost some pounds, thank God, you really should do some exercise or eat healthier”. And I would’ve lost some more, to her delight, if it hadn’t been for Sasha. See, I-I just c-couldn’t… 

_[Takes a deep breath, although his voice remains as shaky.]_ There was this permanent knot in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow down anything but tea. Besides, I had lost all appetite, so I didn’t really care about eating. I could barely stand the person I was. Clingy, clumsy, good-for-nothing, disgusting, useless. And I couldn’t force myself to go back to the Institute, knowing that I wasn’t helping you **at all.** I really didn’t want to make you lose even **more** time. _[Static noise is deafening now.]_ Those were dark days, Jon, and I… I think I could’ve done something really bad. To myself, I mean. If Sasha hadn’t decided to check on me, I… I… _[Hiccups.]_

Oh, fudge, I-I’m s-sorry. I didn’t want t-to cry. I… Sorry, I-I just need s-some time to...

_[Silence, as Martin sobs some more. Through deep breaths, he manages to calm down.] [Sniffing.]_ Okay. I’m… I’m okay now.

So… Yeah, Sasha. She wouldn’t stop ringing the bell, and at first I didn’t answer because I thought it was, oh, dunno—the postman? A-and he would be bringing the bills, at best, n-never letters or postcards. So I just ignored the insistent knocking and bell-ringing.

Then Sasha started shouting, ‘Martin, I know you’re in there, so get out of bed and open this door!’. _[Sighs.]_ It was raining cats and dogs outside, and I didn’t know whether Sasha had an umbrella with her, so I couldn’t _not_ open the door. 

And Sasha, she… _[Clears his throat.]_ This all happened on a Friday, I remember, and she stayed over for the entire weekend. I, uh, I reckon I hadn’t bothered to clean up the house much since I got the sick leave. So she and I spent a good chunk of the weekend doing that—dusting off, keeping the windows open to get fresh air and what little sunlight there was, sweeping, doing the laundry, changing my bedspread. 

Oh, and she made me _talk_. At first I couldn’t say more than three words in a row without choking on shame and tears. But Sasha didn’t push me. Instead, she did most of the talking. She cooked, as well, and made sure I ate enough. My head said ‘No’, but slowly, my body started saying otherwise. I realised I was… Well, you’ll have to excuse my vocabulary—, I was, as Sasha herself put it, ‘really fucking hungry’. 

_[Absent-mindedly, as if lost in thought.]_ See, she spent the weekend with me. On Saturday night, she received a call from Tim… Apparently, they had planned on going out for dinner together. So there’s this troubled look in Sasha’s eyes, and Tim sounds so excited, and as she starts to stutter an excuse, he says, ‘Oh, and tell Martin to join us! He’s fun to have around!’.

I didn’t want to go. See, it had clearly been a date, and you don’t just turn up in your friends’ night out together. That’s not nice. But Sasha said that yeah, it’d definitely be so much better if I joined them, and she helped me pick an appropriate outfit. We had been ironing not even an hour ago, and it was the first time of the week I wore actual clothes, instead of my pyjamas. It felt nice. Even if I was an impostor, pretending to be something other than a complete wreck. When I got out of the bathroom, showered, shaved, and dressed up, Sasha didn’t say anything.

Instead, she got up and hugged me tight. After so long without any kind of human interaction, it felt… _Good_. I felt better than I had in months. And Sasha, she said, ‘You’re stronger than you think, Martin, and we love you. Never forget that, alright? This Archival Assistant Trio would be nothing without Martin Blackwood. Tim and I would end up killing either ourselves, or each other, out of sheer boredom.’

_[Pause.]_

I’ll admit, that made me cry a little. See, that was Sasha. Loving, caring, kind. And Tim, he was… Before all of this, before the Institute broke him, he was a great guy, too. We had dinner together at this posh Thai restaurant Sasha had been dying to go to for months, and then went to a pub nearby to have a beer. 

You’d think I was bound to play gooseberry—but it was actually quite nice. We laughed a lot, and Sasha and Tim shared some wild pre-Archives jobs they’d had. Both of them walked me home, and while I had thought Sasha and Tim would spend the rest of the night at either of them’s, both stayed with me. We shared my bed, because it was big enough for all three of us. Besides, the couch in my living room is a modern-day torture instrument. And Tim made us tear up from laughter with his silly anecdotes, and Sasha told some pretty badass experiences she’d had while studying abroad in South Africa, and I, well, I felt like I was part of something for the first time in forever. 

On Sunday, we took care of Tim, who had this horrible hangover, and went to the street market to buy fresh groceries with which Sasha prepared an amazing stew. And we went for a walk so Tim would get some fresh air, and when we got back, we spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games while listening to a 90’s Greatest Hits playlist on Sasha’s Spotify. I brewed tea, because they asked me to. And… _[Voice faltering]_ And they said they had missed it. My tea. And that they had missed me, too, so I’d better show up the next day at the Institute to save them from death by Arsechival Assisting.

I still had some days from the sick leave, but. I forced myself to get back to work that Monday. And when I came into the office I shared with Tim and Sasha, she had brought me a box from Sarah’s Cupcakes. As for Tim, he handed me a box containing a mug—it said ‘Positivi-tea!’, and had an adorable doodle of a tea bag. And they both smiled at me, and said, ‘Welcome back, Martin! We missed you’, and hugged me.

_[Sighs.]_

Now I miss them, too. _[The sheets rustle, as Martin sits up on bed.]_ So much. And I bet you do too, Jon. They were good people. And I know you are good, as well. Y’know?, after this intervention I’ve told you about, for some reason I started to think about why you were so cold and… Mean, to us. And once I started looking for clues, I couldn’t stop. 

Soon enough, it became crystal clear to me that all your dismissal and scepticism were just a façade. Because, underneath all the sarcasm and the snarky remarks, you were someone really afraid. Lonely, too. Which is why, I guess, I couldn’t hate you—I understood you all too well.

Yes, you were still an Arsechivist to us, but I think that, sometimes, that’s what a person turns into when the world won’t stop mistreating them. We’re survivors, after all. So we look for a way to hide from all the pain. Jon, I know have wounds from your past, and that you haven’t told anyone about how they’re still bleeding. That’s okay. You’re hurting, and how you cope is up to you. But underneath all the bitterness and the mistrust, there’s a good man who needs comfort. Just like I did, three years ago.

Sometimes, believe it or not, I caught glimpses of that good man underneath your Bad Boss mask. You’d absent-mindedly thank me for things such as a mug of tea, or batteries for your tape recorder. Or your gaze would wander around the room as you trailed off mid-sentence, the lingering second of silence before you spoke again being proof that you’d been about to say something else.

And when you went away, after Prentiss’ attack, and later on returned… You were a completely different man, Jon. Not only because you were done with all the paranoid stalker role—there was something in the way you held yourself. And in the way you held **us** together. 

Daisy, and Melanie, and Tim, and Basira, and hell, even me… We all tried to quit at some point. 2016 Jon wouldn’t have given a pepper whether we actually resigned or not. Hell, he might’ve been pleased if we did. But this Jon who had come back, he worried about us. 

He _worries_. Enough to go inside The Buried in an attempt to bring Daisy back. And Jon, I do hope you’ll find her. But whether you actually do so or not, your actions speak for themselves all the same.

_[ Small groans, as Martin gets up and stretches his arms above his head. ]_ That brings me back to my initial point. I’ve been on the lookout for monsters all my life, and you’re not one, Jon. Nikola Orsinov was a monster. Breekon and Hope were. Elias is. But you—you’re nothing like them, Jon. Nothing. I know you don’t trust yourself about this, so trust me. 

I… _[Brief pause, as Martin checks his watch.]_ Ugh, it’s too late to go back to sleep. I think I’m gonna take a shower, and then head over to Sarah’s Cupcakes before going to the Institute. Just a whim I’m treating myself to. And I’ll raise my tea to Sasha and Tim, and to you, too.

No. Not to you, yet. Because you’re coming back, you hear me? You’re coming back. And then we’ll raise our teas together. You’re already late enough, so you’d better hurry up and get out of that bloody coffin.

Don’t make wait any more, eh?

G’morning, Jon. I hope today’s the day I can say it to you in person. I really do.

_[CLICK.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again, for being so late D: I've been really busy and I just couldn't find five bloody minutes to sit down and write. As the founder of a movement that's raising awareness and money for Yemen (@iwillfeedyemen on Instagram, if any of you wants to check it out), as well as an article writer for the online magazine Culture Shock Chronicle AND a volunteer with one organization for solitude relief among the elderly + two orgs sending letters to health care professionals and isolated patients with COVID-19, uh, yeah, I've had my plate a liiiiittle full. But I hope I can bring you the final chapter of this story before the end of this week! 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments would be highly appreciated <3 Each comment is a nice session of screaming-in-joy-and-even-sobbing-a-little-when-you-guys-get-cute I get, which is as good as therapy, but for free. (And my student poverness really appreciates getting free, therapeutical sessions of that kind)


	9. Case #0172703-B

_ [TAPE CLICKS ON]  _

_ [Background sound of swift footsteps. Indistinct chatter comes and goes as passersby walk past, and every now and then a car engine purrs as the driver shifts gears. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks twice, and another one ‘woof-woof’es in response. Above it all there is whistling, loud and clear. It’s the chorus to The Turtles’ hit  _ Happy Together. _ ] _

_ [There’s a squeak, and a bell ringing, as a door is pushed open. The sounds of the still-waking streets are replaced by laughter and talk and a child’s attempts at persuading their parents to get them a chocolate doughnut. Every minute or two, a young man asks ‘Who’s next? It’s your turn, ma’am!’, loud enough that it can be heard above all the noise.] _

Hm? Sorry, what is… O-oh, I’m next! My apologies, sir, I was thinking about something else— _[Small groan of uneasiness.]_ G’morning, eh…, Jack? O-okay, I’d like to order a, um, a Pu’Erh tea. M-medium-sized, and takeaway, please. 

Uh, by the way, I brought my own travel cup, so… If you don’t mind using it?  _ [Pause, as the young man talks.] _ Oh, thanks! A-and yeah, they’re great! I, eh, I bought mine nearly a year ago, and it still looks brand-new!  _ [Another brief pause.] _ Really? Well, that’s interesting! I didn’t know that they were also called ecoffee mugs, but… Catchy, there’s no denying that.

Right, s-sorry! I’d also like a slice of banana bread, please. That one’s good, yeah!  _ [Pause.] [Faint sound of paper rustling.]  _ No, nothing else, sorry — I mean, thank you! S-sorry, I’m a little sleepy today.

_ [Dull tapping, as the order is processed. The young man says, ‘Two seventy-five’.] _ Right. Do you take credit cards? Okay… There it goes. Contactless cards do make life easier, eh?  _ [Chuckles nervously.] _ Well, um, thank  _ you  _ very much, Jack! Have a nice day, you too!

_ [The next customer orders his latte and an espresso for the woman he’s with. After a few seconds, there’s a squeak, and a bell ringing, as the door is pushed open again. A morning breeze blows, tousling the trees’ leaves lazily.] _

_[Absentmindedly.]_ We’ll have a storm this evening, it seems… Look at those clo _uu_ ** _uch!_** _[Sound of shuffling feet, as Martin stumbles upon a fallen branch and tries not to fall to the floor.]_ A-a-a-a-ah!, ah-ah- **ah**!, tea spilling, tea spilling! _[Drawing sharp breaths.]_ Shitshitshitshit **shit**! It’s scorching hot—surely they put a napkin somewhere in here—wait, I think I have some— _Aha!_ _[_ _Fabric rustling._ _]_ Bless you, Martin From the Past, for always carrying Kleenex inside your coat pockets.

Uhu, uhu, uhu, now… _[_ _Blowing air._ _]_ _Fffffu_. Alright, everything’s fine. No finger is too burnt to function, so I’ll count that as a victory. It **does** hurt, though— _Ffffu, fffu..._

_ [ _ _ CLICK. _ _ ] _

* * *

_ [ _ _ CLICK. _ _ ] _

Alright, so here we are! One more day in the Archive Assistants’ Lonely and Windowless Office. How lucky, mister Blackwood.  _ [ _ _ Sigh _ . _ ] _ Anyways. Careful not to spill the tea again, careful… Good.

_ [ _ _ Fabric rustling, as Martin takes off his coat.  _ _ ] _

Let’s see. Notes from yesterday night, 1-800-where are you… _[_ _Unzipping noise._ _]_ Here Oh! Hello there, you creep. _[_ _Diverse noises, as Martin gets the tape recorder out of his backpack._ _]_ Y’know, I don’t mind the company, but we _need_ to talk about boundaries. Privacy. Personal matters. How long have you been recording?

_ [ _ _ Snort. _ _ ] _ Yeah, not like a tape recorder can talk much. But I’d still very much appreciate it if whoever’s putting them everywhere explained the reason behind this, eh, tape stalking. How am I supposed to go to the  **loo** when I don’t know whether I’m being recorded for posterity!?

Jon, if this is some weird Head of the Beholding Archival Cultists power, it’d better mean you’re still alive and kicking. And if you’re still alive and kicking, then  _ come the hell back _ already! You and I owe Tim and Sasha a toast, after all—and we’re  **not** breaking that one promise.  _ [ _ _ Thoughtful. _ _ ] _ Although… Technically, it was only  _ me  _ who said I’d toast to them.

Hm.  _ [ _ _ Hurriedly. _ _ ] _ T-technicalities aside, I-I said  _ come back _ . A-and don’t ‘Martin’ me—I know you would—if you’re not here to do it in person! You wanna ‘Martin’ me?, you gotta get out of The Buried. Sorry, Jon, I don’t make the rules.

_ [ _ _ Pause. _ _ ] _

That was just…

For the love of God. I really am losing it now, or am I? Talking to an empty room, bickering with a tape recording that’s obviously  **not** going to do anything about it, or even care. I s’pose Peter would be thrilled to see I’m  _ finally  _ going nuts.

_ [ _ _ Sighs, louder this time. _ _ ] _ __

Nonetheless… Even if it was stupid, I made a promise. And I’m nothing, if not a man of my word, so.  _ [ _ _ Softly, almost inaudible _ _.]  _ Here’s to you, Sasha—and to you too, Tim. Just for the, eh, quite literal record…, I’m raising my cup. Or, whatever Jack called it?, the ecoffee mug. The tea.

See? I’m positive it’s on tape already, but today I went to one of my favourite bakeries and ordered a Pu’Erh. Usually I’d rather have a good ole’ Earl Grey to start off the day, but? What can I say? Only the best tea to toast to the best archive assistants.

By which I-I mean you two, o-obviously! Because, okay, you were always up to some monkey business—Tim, absolutely yes.I’m talking about you here. Remember that one time, on Jon’s second day as Head Archivist, that you started asking him for directions to the Magnus Institute of London with a  _ straight  _ face? During a literal  _ half an hour _ ? That was absolutely  **insane** . 

But still, at the end of the day, both of you got the job done spotlessly, and somehow managed to be brilliant assistants Jon couldn’t help but respect.

_[_ _Mumbling._ _]_ How I wish **I** could’ve been the same.

_ [ _ _ Pause. _ _ ] _

But my point is, yeah, Pu’Erh today! Surpy-surprise! Martin ‘Scheduling And Routines Are My Sanity’ Blackwood ordered a different brew today! Miracles  _ do  _ happen sometimes, I guess. 

If you wanna know why Pu’Erh, well, you’ve gotta bear in mind that this type of tea comes from Ancient China. Because of its unique taste and medicinal properties, it was considered a luxury, so for several hundreds of years, only the nobility would be allowed to drink Pu’Erh. 

In the end, that changed, obviously. Nowadays, everybody can get a passable Pu’Erh at a reasonable price, no need to be Chinese royalty. But here’s the trick—the tea is best when the leaves have been left to age properly. The older the Pu’Erh leaves, the better the taste you get. And. While this particular Pu’Erh may not come from ancient leaves apt only for the upper class, I still chose it because of the history I just told you about. 

You could say I bought royal tea for the Institute Royals, in a way!

Or, uh, not. I… That, that was kinda silly of me.  _ [ _ _ Chuckles nervously _ _.] _ S-see, it was a really absurd idea I had once… If we were ever to celebrate some kind of prom or something, in an alternate universe,  _ obviously _ , where we were all American high-schoolers who got to have proms to attend, well, if we were ever to celebrate said prom —I believe you two would’ve been chosen King and Queen. As well as the cutest couple, that is.

_ [ _ _ Pause. _ _ ] _

Silly, as I said. 

But anyways—

Here’s to you, Sasha James.  _ [ _ _ Gulp. _ _ ] _

And to you, Timothy Stoker.  _ [ _ _ Gulp. _ _ ] _

To the one and only powerhouse couple of the Magnus Archives! Wherever you guys are now, I…  _ [ _ _ In a choked voice. _ _ ] _ I hope you’re okay, and in a place where all these horrors can’t hurt you anymore.

As for you, Jon… I said I wouldn’t raise my cup to you, and I’m not changing my mind. But I guess I  _ didn’t  _ say anything about you and I having breakfast together, right? Just give me a minute, so I can get to your office. Ever since I stepped into the Archives twenty minutes ago, there’s been this nagging in the back of my mind. Which I believe means that there’s another tape that I should be bringing you. 

_ [ _ _ Sigh. _ _ ] _ Tapes are gonna end up being my only friends, if everything stays the same. How pathetic is that? Right when I thought my life  _ couldn’t  _ get sadder.

_ [CLICK.] _

* * *

_ [CLICK.] _

Alright, I’ve got the tape. Eh, um. I brought the Pu and the banana bread with me, so we can have breakfast together. Even if it’s nonsense, because, um, it’s actually just me listening to an old statement as I eat banana bread, but... Here, just let me put this tape inside another recorder. A-although… Why on Earth are there so many recorders inside your drawers!? Jon, I believe you have a little Dyogenes with tape recorders, the amount of them everywhere is nowhere near normal…  _ [ _ _ Clicking sound _ _.] _ There you go. Okay, it’s Case #0170208-A to F. Now playing.

_ [ _ _ Martin hits play on a different recorder _ _.] _

> “Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London, regarding the upcoming, um… Operation. 2nd August, 2017. Recording taken direct from subject.
> 
> “I-I wanted to get some thoughts down before, um… Everything. We all should, actually. I’ll —I’ll maybe mention it to them.
> 
> “It looks like it’s decided. Myself, Daisy, Basira, and, uh, Tim, are all going to be heading off to this House of Wax…”
> 
> _ [The tape plays on for a while.] _
> 
> “Is losing a friend and not even noticing normal? Corridors; evil, all-seeing managers… I s'pose you can get used to anything. But… This feels different. I need them to be safe. I need him to be okay. So-sorry, umm. I’m not afraid for me, though. Isn’t that weird? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be safe, like my plan’s not dangerous, but it’s—it’s mine.”
> 
> _ [CLICK.] _

_ [Chewing noises. There’s a long pause.] _

Well.  _ [Sighs.] _ I… Don’t really know what else to say. Things haven’t changed much, eh? The evil, all-seeing manager is now some looney seawolf — but, if you put  _ that  _ aside, there’s nothing new under the sun. 

_ [Pause.] _

I hadn’t realised how many tapes I’ve been leaving here. You’re gonna give me hell for this mess when you get back. Although I —

Wait—

I think I just heard Basira pass by. She was speaking on the phone, I think? either that, or she was talking to herself, but that was definitely Basira’s voice. Y’know, she hasn’t been okay since you disappeared three days ago, either. And by that, I mean that she’s in a big ‘I Am Going To Murder You, Jonathan Sims’ mood. Big as in ‘Melanie was a soft, loving kitten compared to what I’m going to be when you get your arse back here’. When she finds you… I, eh, how’d you say this… I’d make sure that I’ve got a good life insurance. And an updated version of my will in the notary.

_ [ _ _ Pause _ _.] _

Jon…

When I said things haven’t changed, I meant it. Back then, I needed you to be okay. And, well, look how  _ that  _ turned out eh?  _ [ _ _ Mirthless chuckle _ _.] _ But yeah, it… Hasn’t changed, either. 

Jon, I need you to be okay. I need you back. Just. 

_ [ _ _ Softly _ _.]  _ I need you, Jon. 

_ [ _ _ He doesn’t say anything else. There’s the sound of steps as, one by one, Martin rewinds all the tapes and leaves them playing. Soon enough, the voices of Jon, Martin, Basira, Daisy, and all the others fill the room _ _.] _

And because I need you, I can’t stop hoping that you’ll be back. That’s… For some reason, I’ve already told you, it feels like all the tapes can be of help. I… I’ve left some of my poetry tapes playing, to. 

There are  **dozens** of statements being played right now. 

So… This might be a perfect moment to, uh, y’know. Draw your strength from them, and come back in an epic Orpheus-and-Eurydice-But-They’re-Avatars-Inside-The-Buried move. 

Yeah. I…

I’m going to ask Basira to keep an eye on your office during the morning, just in case. 

Please.

Please, Jon, I…

I...

I’ll be waiting for you.

_ [END RECORDING.] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voilà, the final chapter of this little fic! It's not a masterpiece, but I still feel like it's not that bad. Writing this in your TMA canon style was really difficult, as you can't really describe much...?, but alas, it's done! I wanted to thank everyone who's left kudos here. You all rule <3 Special thanks to Aryashi, Poiby, OakLeaf444, Songoftheskies, jennaviolett, and PabloSkrems for their comments. All of them, no exceptions, made me smile :)


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